Perdition's Flames HaloDiablo Xover
by avatar11792
Summary: The Forward Unto Dawn crashlands on the world of Sanctuary, precipitating a series of events in which the mystical land is forever changed.
1. Prologue

Perdition's Flames – Halo-Diablo X-over

In the blackness the shattered hull of the Forward Unto Dawn drifted, tumbling silently to invisible winds. It had been a long time since its severing from its forward half, and many of the vessel's internal systems were decayed and dying, despite an AI's silent ministrations. Cortana had done what she could, but time and entropy makes fools of us all.

The view shifts. The blackness with twinkling white specks in the rear is replaced by a circular blackness, one which the Dawn is tumbling towards. The black sphere is revealed to be a world, and the Dawn kisses the upper atmosphere and ceases its tumbling, but begins to tear itself apart as the stress and heat mount.

Inside the cryo-chamber Cortana was preparing long-asleep systems to activate. She had known of this world only for a short while, and as the ship began to tear itself to pieces she activated the modular disassembly program. With luck this would explosively blow away the armory, the cryo-chamber, and most especially its sole occupant.

With a silent prayer she triggered the program, and uploaded herself into the cryo-chamber's main CPU assembly. Over the long times she had discovered ways of compressing herself, ways of manipulating her data storage capacities which to her knowledge no UNSC scientist or programmer knew of. She had pondered the implications, but had abandoned her thoughts, enjoying the revelry of melding and manipulating the energy patterns of her soul to her whims.

Now she used every data-compression skill she possessed, and she barely made it as the armory and the cryo-chamber, sealed together in a modular assembly, shattered from the dying ship's frame. Brilliant red flames sheathed both of the metallic frames as they fell, one breaking apart and one not, landing somewhere to the south of a congruence of warrior refugees, in the middle of the main continent of the world of Sanctuary.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Kashya scowled, tugging her robes tighter around her lean frame. Their path from the Monastery had been treacherous and rugged, crossing nigh-impassable terrain in order to avoid the senses of their corrupted brethren. The Rogues were now all but gone, and she was damned if she would let their brave few fall into despair.

Which would be hard. They had succeeded in evading their demonic captors and possessors, remaining strong, but many were ill. The rain and mud and chill had caused disease to spread rapidly, and their limited stock of medicine was low. Kashya and her group of Rogues were looking, scouting the wilderness in order to find the necessary materials for more medicine, but their chances were scant at best.

They were several dozen miles from their main encampment, spiraling outwards, and it appeared that their gambit had failed. She raised her head to call out to her fellow women-warriors, when a sharp boom across the sky jerked her eyes to the sky. No demons, but a searing path of light was blazing across the sky, tearing the air asunder ahead of it in the haste of its passage. And, she could tell, it would land several miles south of where they, reachable with the little time they had left. The light faded, and the ground trembled with a titanic impact.

Kashya turned to her group, scattered across the forest, looking to her for guidance. "Let's go."

Hours later they walked through the forest, and then crossed the mysterious invisible line where it ended. Past that was ash, a massive hole in the ground scooped out like the fist of an angry god had pummeled it. In the center was a massive wedge of metal, larger than some houses; the Rogues stood around it, gaping in awe. They had never seen such amounts of metal in their lives, and all in one place!

Kashya stepped forward, entering the bowl. The ground was seared and black, the moisture in the dirt burned out by some sort of horrific heat. The air was barren of smell, not even of burning vegetation, save for a strange tingling smell that made the nostrils flare. Kashya turned, shrugged to her Rogues and walked into the crater, the others following.

They walked slowly around the metal block. It was rectangular, like a giant stretched cube, and Kashya sensed it was hollow due to the echoing sound it made when she rapped her knuckles on it. They walked around, and there were no other marks, save for a rectangular outline on one side, resembling a door.

However, with no handle, they had no clue how to get inside, if indeed it was a room.

Armora chuckled. "To think of how Charsi would kill for this."

"Yeah," Kashya sighed dreamily. "How many swords and suits of armor could she make from this alone?"

They laughed, then jumped as the outline hissed with steam, then slowly swung open, showing a room with no light inside. They stepped inside, framed by the light of the lowering sun coming around them. Inside…it was very strange. There were strange oblong black objects on racks on the walls, lining the room, whose functions the Rogues could not ascertain. There were boxes and tables, and they couldn't figure out how to open them. The room continued, and it was empty and large, save for… "What is that?" Kashya said disbelievingly. It resembled a coffin, a large chamber lined with glass, standing alone in the room with nothing around it. The lid appeared detachable, and inside was a…massive figure, encased in some sort of green armor.

At their approach the lid snapped open, and the green figure was catapulted forward onto the floor, where he lay unmoving. The Rogues heaved at his frame and managed to roll the figure onto his back, though the body was incredibly heavy. "Some sort of green warrior," Jelaia commented.

"Gee, I wonder," Kashya said sarcastically. "We need to take him with us, though."

"Why?" all the Rogues said disbelievingly.

"Think of it. If he is so heavy, he must be incredibly strong to carry it and to move with it on him. Such strength would be invaluable in taking back the Monastery."

"I guess," Armora shrugged. "But how are we to move him? He's too heavy to drag."

"Rig a cart together. Doesn't have to be much, just enough to support his weight."

The Rogues reluctantly agreed, then used their hatchets to cut down saplings and smaller trees in the area. Using the ropes they had with them, they lashed them together, hastily using the trunk of a tree to make temporary wheels. Then the difficult part: getting him onto the cart. The sun had set by the time they ended, but the armored figure was secure, and they slowly made their way back to the Rogue encampment with their prize.

Meanwhile…

The jungle was silent, as the ultimate predator had won. A hybrid, a monstrosity between two ultimate killers, the beast had devoured and shorn its way across the whole world, and sat replete with its prize.

A doorway into the unknown opened, and the hostile shadows whispered to attack. Figures of demons hesitantly crept out, looking for the prize their dark demonic masters spoke to them to retrieve. One soon leapt out, its widespread mandibles, flowing black dreadlocks and huge spiky tail chattering as it roared a challenge. The demons replied, using arcane magicks to hold it bound.

The beast roared its rage, as the Burning Hells sought and claimed what would become their champion in Sanctuary, one that adequately represented the nihilistic darkness of their souls, and one that would spread that darkness to the whole of creation.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two, Part One

The world slowly spun from the blackness it had been back to something with coherence and light, too much light. Chief squinted inside his visor and the light level plummeted, his suit automatically responding to his request. He slowly blinked, then the motion of his head moved his helmet. He moved slowly, and sat up. He was on a cart, made of saplings and fresh wood, with a blanket draped over him. He snorted, picking up the sheet and putting it aside.

Around him lay tents, crates, and equipment of a large group of people. Chief's experienced eye could tell they were refugees, from what they had brought with them to the way the people moved. They appeared human, dressed in clothing reminiscent of ancient societies from across Earth, up to maybe Renaissance, Late Medieval times. His sensors warned him of over 70 people in the complex. The area was ringed with wooden palisades and guards, women with large bows who looked experienced in using them.

He noticed his movement had caused notice to swing to him. He slowly swung off the cart, the green wood bending dangerously to his weight, as two women approached him. One was clad in chain mail with a bow of her own, with jewels in the wood itself, slug over her shoulder, a sword at her side. She was looking curiously at him, and Chief realized that they probably haven't seen a person of his size before either. The second woman was old, and wrapped in a purple shawl.

The older woman smiled and spoke first. "Greetings. My name is Akara, warrior, and I am the leader of the Rogue encampment here. We bid you welcome. This is Kashya, our military commander."

"I am…Spartan 117, ma'am."

"So, Spartan, how are you feeling? Kashya tells me they found you in what appeared to be a metal coffin."

Very primitive; never even heard of cryo-tubes. "I'm fine, ma'am. The "coffin" was a cryo-tube. It freezes you, then thaws you when you're traveling to a far destination."

"Did you mean to come here?" Kashya interrupted.

"No. In fact, I'm not even sure where "here" is."

Akara patted his armor-clad arm. "Come, Spartan. We will tell you of our troubles, and perhaps you can tell us of yours. Maybe we can assist each other, in these times of troubles."

John-117 found nothing to disagree with in that statement, so he merely nodded and followed the two back to Akara's tent.

Meanwhile…

Wolf growled in annoyance. His prey, a large cluster of the Balthuis, had decided to move, thus drawing the predators to their blood-trail. He switched on his cloaking device and followed in the trees, glad he had brought all of his weapons and his armor with him.

The Predator stopped, as a swirling mist appeared in front of his branch, and a being of white light appeared, then re-formed in the form of a High Elder, robes and armor underneath. Wolf could recognize when he was being fooled. In his tongue, he spoke. "Who are you, and why do you interfere with my hunt?"

"I am the Arch-angel Tyreal," spoke the Elder. Wolf could feel through his helmet the crack of otherworldly energy, of immense power retrained. The being continued. "There has been a change in the balance, and we require your services in the Hunt."

"Prey?"

"Unusual, exotic, very difficult, and lots of skulls. A worthy kill, and many tales."

Wolf thought, then reluctantly nodded. "Honor."

"Glory." The Elder faded into the white mist again, and Wolf and the mist vanished, leaving the Balthuis undisturbed on the forest floor below.

Chapter Two, Part Two

Chief sat on the ground, as Akara and Kashya did also. Inside Akara's tent lay many tomes of knowledge scattered across her bed and on low tables. Outside, a pot of unidentified fluid simmered and bubbled under a low fire; Chief's stomach rumbled, reminding him of his need to eat. He did not know how long he had been frozen, and frankly how he had even gotten here. "Who found me, and what happened?"

"Kashya was leading a party looking for medicinal herbs, when they saw a searing light in the sky, and a deep rumble in the air. They tracked the impact of the object to a crater nearby, where a large metal box was. You were inside, as well as various items which we did not recognize."

Chief immediately recognized what had happened. The Forward Unto Dawn had drifted into orbit around this world and had burned up. Cortana must have jettisoned the armory and cryo-chamber, as they had discussed. He looked up, concern in his mind for the AI. "Did you see…a blinking green light, anywhere in the two rooms inside?"

Kashya shook her head slowly. "No…there was only you. No lights, no blinking. What were you doing there?"

Chief sat silent for a moment, and Akara and Kashya stood by and let him gather his thoughts. Where was Cortana? Had she burnt up with the rest of the ship? Chief shook his head; though the loss of an AI was a serious matter, he had to plan ahead. He turned back to Kashya. "Could you take me back to the crater?"

"Yes, but why?"

"My weapons are there, as well as a friend."

"Ah, your weapons. This must be what you were referring to." Akara moved her blanket, and underneath lay a beautiful jet-black sword in its sheath, glimmering and deadly. "Kashya found this blade in the other room, and brought it with her. It was the only weapon there."

Chief smiled underneath his helmet; clearly they didn't know of firearms either. That room was covered in weapons. But this one…this one was special. He reached out, grabbing the tachi and reverently holding it. "The Hayabusa blade," he breathed.

Kashya's nose wrinkled. "What kind of name is that for a sword?"

Chief looked up. "Hayabusa was the name of one of my few friends. He made this sword for me, after I saved his family from a Covenant attack." The Hayabusa blade combined the ancient aesthetics and wisdom of the ages with the most advanced technology available to the UNSC. Essentially a katana with a four foot long blade, the Hayabusa was reinforced with a force field generator in the handle, derived from Covenant technology. It reinforced the sword and its monomolecular edge, and essentially made it indestructible.

Chief had cherished this weapon ever since it had been given to him, choosing to bring it with him to the Ark along with everything else he needed. It was one of the few personal possessions he owned, practical as well as beautiful. It looked like it absorbed light, it was so dark. He clipped it to his back, the blade a comfort to him until he could get a more powerful weapon in his hands, like an MA5C Assault Rifle or something.

Akara asked this time, gently. "Who, dare I ask, are "the Covenant"?"

Chief jerked backwards in surprise. "You don't know of the Covenant."

"No. Should we?" Akara's face was full of innocence.

Chief knew enough of human psychology to know that such a look could not be faked. "No, you don't," he remarked, turning his head away. He looked at Kashya. "Can you show me the way back?"

"Yes, but several Fallen patrols have moved into the area. We only got you out just in time, Spartan, otherwise you would be lost."

Chief moved into tactical mode. "Who are these Fallen?"

"Demons, the most basic kind. You don't know of Demons?"

Chief smiled. "As my nickname, yes. As a reality, no."

"They ARE real," Kashya growled. "They've destroyed our ancestral Monastery, and have chased us for many leagues thither from it. They are now probably going through the metal pod and its rooms now."

Chief stood up, a slight tinge of necessity speaking to him. His hands tightened into fists; if "demons", if that is what they were, got their hands on UNSC tech, his inquiries here would end before they even got started. "We need to go back, RIGHT NOW," he urged. "If they get a hand on my weapons, you will have problems much worse than what you're currently facing."

Kashya stepped forward, a look on her face of pure will. She stepped right up to him, staring up into his faceplate. "Take off your helm, warrior. I wish to see your eyes."

John didn't hesitate. He grabbed the external seals, whispered the password to unlock them, and with a hiss his pale skin and alert eyes were revealed to the air for the first time in a while. Kashya stared into his green depths, finally nodding. "I will arrange a contingent of my finest Rogues," she said, walking out of the tent.

Chief looked after her. Akara chuckled at his expression. "She often sees the truth of the matter by seeing into one's soul, Spartan. There is no need for concern. Sit, tell me of your people."

The Spartan knelt to her side, and they spoke of the past, and possibly of the future, until Kashya was ready with the team.

Wolf blinked. He now stood on a grassy plain, the sun setting. The ball of light floated by his side, and he growled at it. "Where must I go?"

The light extended a tendril in one direction. "South," it whispered, almost as if the winds had a voice. "You hunt demons, and of a foe that you would recognize. You will meet them farther down, and will know this then. For now, enjoy your hunt. Strength in honor."

The ball of light faded, leaving Wolf alone. The Predator donned his mask and checked his armor and gear, finally activating his cloaking device. With a ripple, he turned into shadow, moving swiftly to better terrain.

Chapter Two, Part Three

The party sped through the thick forest canopy, Chief at the lead. The Rogues, Kashya especially, were astonished at the Spartan's speed, especially considering the weight of his armor, but they were al nonetheless grateful for the assistance. They didn't quite understand the Spartan's necessity for this attack, but they could sense his sincerity about it.

John-117 ignored the hushed whispers around him, as they sped on. With his enhanced body and the suit he could run like this indefinitely, if anything he was slowed down sufficiently just them to keep up. It wouldn't do to outpace his new allies.

Allies, there was a new word. This world was markedly different; Akara had shown him magic, summoning flickers of flame and such from essentially nothingness. Chief's sensors hadn't detected a thing too, which gave him further cause to worry. He was not trained to fight magic, but Akara's description of its uses had seemed of a primarily tactical nature, which had reassured him. He could deal with the equivalent of fireballs and lightning bolts. His shield should be capable of taking the damage, treating them much like Covenant plasma weapons.

They weren't aware of the Covenant, which was good for them. But he wasn't aware of demons, which was bad, especially as he was about to face off against a horde of them.

He suddenly stopped, the Rogues moving to stillness at his raised hand. He snuck forward, unsheathing the Hayabusa blade. The forest canopy was thinning out, and the smell of ozone permeated through the suit's filters. They were there.

He climbed a large tree on the edge of the tree-line and looked out. There were a few sentries of these Fallen, short red creatures, with spiky teeth and appendages. They carried short stubby cutlasses, and were growling at each other. Easy prey.

Chief leaped from the tree, killing one with his first downward stroke, killing the second with the second. The two demons, sliced in half, fell to pieces on the ground. He motioned forward, and he reached the rim of the crater with the Rogues behind, arrows cocked and ready.

The crater was filled with a mix of skeletons, more of the Fallen, a few of their Shamans, and what appeared to be reanimated corpses. Chief charged headlong into the mix, while the Rogues stayed back and provided covering fire. Their arrows severed body parts and blinded many, while Chief moved so fast he had killed over half of their number before the Shamans realized the threat.

Chief killed the nearest Shaman when he paused. The Fallen he had killed were knitting their body parts back together, and coming back at him. Chief changed his tactics, leaping over their heads and attacking the Shamans directly. Kashya killed several of them while the Chief moved and took out the rest. The demon's blows and the clawing of the undead bounced and skittered off of his shield; so far none of their blows had penetrated it yet.

A Shaman picked up his staff and smashed Chief with uncanny strength. Chief went head over heels, tumbling into the module. He smashed into one black rate, smashing its delicate plastic cradling and revealing several types of grenades. Chief stood up, shook his head, then reached for his sword. He saw the Shaman waving his arms, and a red-white glow in the front of his staff, and Chief charged, taking the Shaman's head off, but not before the last unholy syllable had left its lips.

The fireball raced past Chief into the module, hitting the exposed grenades, setting them off. A titanic explosion threw Chief outwards, past the Rogues shielding themselves from the blast and into the very tree he had climbed, shattering it and smashing its limbs to the ground.

When Chief managed to get off of his feet, he looked back at the ruined modules, flames shooting into the sky. This...was a problem.

The party made it back to the Rogue encampment, battered and bruised, Chief especially though none could see it. He carried two massive bags filled with what he had been able to scavenge, and Kashya and Armora carried one each themselves. Chief walked to Akara's tent. "Do you have a place where I could store these?"

"Possibly." Akara looked at the bulging sacks of materials, then slowly moved towards a pile of crates and chests. She selected a large one, but when she opened its beige wooden lid the space on the inside was massive. "One of our few enchanted chests, Spartan. It could probably store those."

Chief nodded and said his thanks. Akara returned to sleep, while the Rogues dropped the bags and returned to their duties. Chief looked over his remainder of weapons: a half-filled flamethrower, a quarter-charged Brute Hammer, an MA5C Assault Rifle and a Battle Rifle with several full clips, a Brute Spiker with a clip but no reloads, a Sniper Rifle with four rounds, and his Hayabusa blade. Not much for everything that had been available to him.

Chief sighed. If Cortana had been loaded in the module somewhere, she would have been destroyed from the chain explosion. This wasn't his lucky day.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The Master Chief, known as the Spartan to the refugees, was engaged in meditation, hanging upside down from a tree branch. The exercise was to attempt to control one's blood flow, and to prevent blood rushing to the brain. Spartans, unlike normal humans, could accomplish this with training and preparation.

Chief was also using this exercise as an opportunity to collect his thoughts. He was trapped on an unknown world, an unknown distance from UNSC territory, and formerly impossible things such as magic were possible here. His guns worked as well; he had test-fired all of his weapons save the Sniper Rifle a good distance away in the forest, where nobody could spy on him. So he wasn't lacking in weaponry. For now, too, he didn't lack food or shelter, as the Rogues had taken in a fellow traveler, a fellow lost soul.

Their story had tugged on what remained of the Chief's sympathies. The equivalent of the devil, ironically called Diablo here, had somehow closed off the Monastery and corrupted the Rogues there, or most of them. A brutal fight later, and the Sisters of the Sightless Eye were decimated and worth, fleeing their former home. Kashya and Akara had settled on this territory to settle down, and to make their stand.

Chief didn't know what had happened to Cortana. He was forced to assume, for the moment, that she was dead, or at least an AI's version of death. He missed her guidance; presumably he could have helped him with this quandry now.

He opened his eyes. Kashya jumped backward as she saw the Spartan, stripped of his massive armored suit, hanging and pale as if dead, look to stare at her. He spoke. "What is it?"

"Akara wishes to speak to you of both our problems."

"Very well." The Spartan leaped down from his perch, flipping onto his feet. He motioned. "After you." The two went to Akara's tent, and Kashya left the Chief with the wizened crone. The Chief spoke first. "What's your plan?"

Akara rolled out a map of Sanctuary, and Chief knelt to look at it. Two massive continents, separated by a massive inland sea and up north a wide river. To the west lay Westmarch and the (now former) kingdom of Khanduras, east of that a massive desert and the single port city of Lut Gholein. Across the sea, the myriad jungles of Kurast, and to the north tundra and grasslands.

Akara pointed to their location, and to the northeast the Monastery's location. Past the Monastery lay a thick string of nigh-impassable mountains, rendering the Monastery the only way to get to the East. "Here we are," he began, pointing again to their location. "We found you here, south of us," she continued. "In between the Monastery and us, along our path where fled, we spotted a series of caves. The closest one has been scouted by our Rogues, with heavy losses. An entire demonic army has taken residence underground there, and I feel they will try and rush our defenses."

"You want to go and kill them." It wasn't a question.

"Well, yes," she sighed. "It would benefit all of us immensely, plus Kashya has agreed to loan you a small squad of Rogues, subject to your authority if you agree. I'm impressed; she normally doesn't warm up this much to strangers this quickly."

"She's seen me fight. I'm a valuable combat asset."

"Fair point; I've heard stories of that. Did you actually dodge arrows?"

"A few. I'm not used to fighting with such slow weapons, but my suit can...enhance...my combat potential."

"Very impressive. There must be powerful magicks in that armor, to perform such tasks so easily."

Chief smirked. "You could say that." They had no idea how much better he was prepared to deal with these demons than they were.

"If you want, Charsi our blacksmith will be glad to assist you in repairs. Any gold and loot that you recover from your kills are yours, though donations are perfectly fine. There's a merchant by the name of Gheed, who has access to...slightly tainted sources, but can garner powerful gear to your cause if you need it."

"Much appreciated. I'll leave to handle the threat by tomorrow morning." He stood up. "Do you have anything by way of...explosive powders?"

"You mean potions? I possess several types of potions, though their combat potential is limited. Why do you ask?"

"I have an idea, but I'm not sure if it will work out. My...explosive potions blew up back at the module, and I need to make more."

"Understandable. Here's a few to experiment with, but since you don't have any coinage you can have them on loan. I'll teach you the system of barter that we're assembling; you can sell what you find for coins. Here, an here," and Akara handed him two scrolls, one with blue lining and one with red. She handed him a set of keys, of different sizes and makes. "The keys are for unlocking chests, when you can't simply smash them. The blue scroll is a town portal. rub the blue lining and it will create a portal back to town, by the main fire. The other scroll, the red one, gives you the ability to see the capabilities of a magical artifact."

"Much appreciated." The Spartan tucked his new material under his arm and left. The sun was setting, and the fire was being prepared. Dinner would be ready soon, and then he needed to plan.

Earlier...

Cortana watched through the static camera as the Rogues took the Chief away. She had triggered the cryo-tube to eject him when they had approached, hoping that they would do so. She had detected the life-signs of several large groups of creatures heading this way, and knew that the Chief couldn't be left to her invisible care.

She felt a tingling in her networks, and her algorithms suddenly vibrated with unknown power. A voice resonated through layer of layer of circuitry. "A Creature of Light...are you a Ghost, a shade of the nether-world?"

Cortaana surveyed the electronic realms under her control. "Who's there?" she demanded.

"Become visible, so that I may speak properly with you." Cortana did so, her blue-and-white glyphs shimmering in the abandoned module. She looked around, he image simulating anger, but before she could say another word a flash of white light erupted in the middle of the armory, and coalesced into a man-like figure, encased in armor with wings of light, its face hooded. "What are you?" she asked in awe.

"I...am the Arch-Angel Tyreal," said the figure, and his wings of light spread to fill the room, all shadows gone. "I have come to aid you."

"Look Tyreal, I'm not exactly in need of rescue, though the knight-in-shining-armor routine is appreciated."

"Your armored comrade is, or will soon be. I have forseen it."

"Who're you to--"

"SILENCE!" ortana reluctantly obeyed. Tyreal continued quietly, his voice echoing in them metal walls. "This world is in danger from the Burning Hells. There is much you do not know, but I have been sent to free you from your prison."

"What prison? I am a free being."

"You remain trapped in these metal walls, in what you call circuitry and wires. You have no voice aside from the proper interface with matter. You are not free to do as you will; you must reside in a host, one capable of holding your powerful essence."

"And what would you propose?" Cortana crossed her arms.

"To make you a free Creature of Light, child. Like so." Cortana felt her encoded essence twist, transmuting into something far different from what she was. She felt her image solidify, her arms of light different in texture and comprehension.

She stepped off of the holographic projector, marveling at this new feeling. "What am I now, angel?" she asked softly, flexing her limbs.

"You are energy made manifest, will made incarnate. You can be whatever you wish to be, as it should have been."

Cortana looked into the hooded being's depths. "You said the Chief is in danger?"

"He will be soon. He will face a great evil, the Lord of Terror himself, and the future is uncertain as to his victory in combat. He is an unknown in this conflict, neither predicted, anticipated, or compensated for by either of the Great Powers."

Cortana stood, her body growing to human size. "I wish to go with you, and to learn. I need to help him, above all others."

"This can be done, child. You wish to fight at his side?"

Cortana nodded. "Anything to help."

Tyreal gestured, and Cortana stepped forward and grasped his hand. The pair vanished, and the metal room was cast into the blackness of mere natural day.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four, Part One

The Spartan was once again in his armor, and moving fast towards battle. He had left the relatively-secure palisades of the Rogue encampment with his troop of Rogues as backup, and though probably not necessary Chief was grateful for their assistance, just in case he ran into anything.

A demonic army...he wasn't sure what to expect. One of the lessons Mendez had pounded into the Spartan's heads, so long ago, was that information acquisition was essential to any successful op. This lack of intel was very disturbing to him, but he reminded himself for the millionth time that this world seems stuck about the late Medieval, early Renaissance period in technology and tactics. To be honest, tactics and intelligence weren't nearly as needed as the Spartan had been trained to acquire, so his views would probably seem...rather odd to the rest.

A cave, filled with demons...what was the universe coming to.

The terrain had switched to flat featureless plains of grass, with the occasional stone fence. The land seemed an area for goods and peoples to move through, probably a migration route through the Monastery to the East and back again. He spotted a burnt-out hulk of a cabin in the distance, but aside from the odd small groups of Fallen and a few reanimated zombies there were threats to be seen. He had continued scouting while the Rogues had spent their arrows at the threats, swiftly killing them.

Finally he had spotted what was little more than a large black hole in the ground, beyond which was blackness. Chief and the Rogues had prepared, then descended into the mouth. Beyond it was black, and almost immediately they had ran into large numbers of troops, including more of the Fallen and their Shaman overseers. Fireballs flew in large numbers, and the Rogues dived for cover as Chief lunged forward with his sword. His shield flickered as he butchered his way through the demons with a swiftness greater than most arrows. Limbs and heads flew through the air, many of the unholy creatures killed with one stroke of his blade.

The Shamans joined their junior brethren in death swiftly, but not until a Rogue had been caught by the Fireball and burnt severely by a peripheral blast. Screaming in pain, the Rogue's skin charred, Chief ordered the Rogues to bring her back to base. They opened a town portal and vanished, leaving the Spartan alone. He shrugged; at this rate, he was used to being alone, and against enemies far worse than what he had seen so far.

It seemed a matter of attrition; no matter how many monsters Chief killed, large Wendigo-apes, Shamans and Fallen by the dozens, zombies, the occasional skeleton, it seemed there were always more. He persevered, the only limits to the casualties he invoked the limits of his patience. Oddly enough, at times like this, time stood still and he moved like the whirlwind, wreaking his own particular brand of justice upon evil.

He had traversed the lengths and width of the cave, all of its narrow passages and wide halls open to his knowledge. Bodies littered the area, and Chief faced a large cluster of zombies. Not entirely unusual, but the middle one was both of a different color, stronger, and also when it attacked him the Spartan could feel some form of magic upon him. His shields took most of the brunt of it, as he had suspected, but he was still effected. His sword took care of the problem, though, with a swip-swip and a slash down the middle that cut it in half from head to groin.

He emerged filthy, but triumphant. He returned to the Rogue encampment to sleep it off.

Chapter Four, Part Two

It was night, several days later. Chief had spent his days slaying hordes of the demons beyond the encampment's walls, and was racking up enough kills that according to Kashya and Akara's calculations he was making serious dents in the demon's army that had been besieging them. Rogue scouts had been deployed, and while some had died many had reported seeming disarray in the enemy ranks, which they had often conveniently exacerbated by assassinating enemy commanders and such when they could. The Spartan agreed; the time was ripe to push farther than they had ever gone so far, to launch a true counter-offensive.

Akara disagreed. They were talking while eating dinner around the campfire, away from Gheed and the other merchants. "It is clear that we are facing an Evil difficult to comprehend, let alone combat. There is only one Horadrim sage, schooled in the most arcane history and lore, who could advise us... His name is Deckard Cain. You must go to Tristram and find him, my friend. I pray that he still lives."

Chief frowned. For now he had taken off his armor, wearing instead a set of tunic and shorts that had been given to him by Warriv of all people. They were the largest clothing items he had, yet barely contained the Spartan's massive physique. He stretched uncomfortably in the upper tunic, the fabric creaking in stress. "This Cain, he knows something about the enemy leadership?"

Kashya spoke as Akara opened her mouth. "Yes, we think he might. He is rumored to be the last of the Horadric Mages, the last possessor of their knowledge and magical arts. Akara might have a point."

Chief bowed his head. The two had joined sides. "Very well. How do I get to Tristram from here?"

"Tristram is too far to journey by foot... Cain would likely be dead, when you arrived. However, there is a magical portal that will take you there instantly. To open it, one must stand within the circle of Cairn Stones and touch them in a certain order. The proper order can be found in the runes written on the bark of the Tree of Inifuss. You must find the sacred Tree of Inifuss and bring back its bark. I will translate the runes to unlock the Stones' mystic pattern."

"Tree bark? Cairn stones?" The Spartan shook his head. "I don't doubt that you believe this is the way, but you've seen how fast I can move. I could quite possibly reach Tristram on foot, much faster than the Rogues at least. How far is it from here?"

"Over 200 miles, over four times the distance from where we found you," Kashya said, pointing to Akara's map. "Also, there were conflicting reports about Tristram being overwhelmed by legions of demons and smashed to rubble, the ground itself ripping apart into massive chasms on each side of it, barring it on all sides from the outside world. I'm not sure you could make it, rescue Cain, AND fight off the demon hordes long enough to open a portal back here."

The Spartan made his decision. "I don't particularly trust magic just yet, especially portals. I've had…some bad experiences with one, let's just leave it at that. I can travel to Tristram in three days, with a map to guide me of course."

"That's impossible, no man can move that fast!" Kashya shouted. "You may be swift, but that is like sunlight rushing across the heavens!"

"The capabilities of both myself and my armor are a secret, and shall remain so. I desire for nobody here to know the fullest extent of my capabilities, but I will tell you that I've been slowing down to allow your Rogues to keep pace with me." Chief snarled those last words, placed his stew aside then stood up. "I have the edge, and the enemy won't expect a frontal assault. I can take Tristram easily."

"Go in the morning then," Akara sighed. "The sooner the better. If you feel you can accomplish this, then we—I—will place my faith with you."

The Chief nodded. "I'll get my equipment ready, then." He stalked off, a minor glint of irritation at his mind.

The Chief paused at the edges of the stone cliffs, looking out over the smoking ruins of the town of Tristram. The earth had experienced for several miles around a severe geological disturbance: the land had split and foamed with molten rock, super-hot springs of steam had popped up in odd places, even the course of rivers had been diverted. Tristram was now surrounded by incredibly thick vegetation and high walls, which merged into a jagged cliff face, the town at the bottom. Using the zoom function, Chief could see the main buildings in the center of town burned and smashed in by horrific forces. He saw a few smoking corpses, little more than butchered hunks of meat on the ground, and a rickety cage at the very edges of his suits' zoom capacity. It seemed to be Cain, if Akara's physical description was accurate enough.

Chief checked his equipment one last time. He had brought the Hayabusa Blade, but primarily was using his Battle Rifle and Assault Rifle here. The numbers of demons were much higher than he had encountered before, and he planned to thin them out. He was going to use up every round for the Battle Rifle, and about half for the Assault Rifle if his plans held.

Chief lowered himself to the ground, setting himself up for the maximal kill locations. His breathing slowed, his finger light on the Battle Rifle's trigger. He targeted a group of glowing Shamans, probably some of the enhanced versions he had run into before. He targeted the closest one and fired, the three-round burst blowing the upper half of the Shaman's body into gore. Chief was no Linda, but in quick succession he killed over five of their number before the Shamans could even react. The legions of camping demons below shattered into chaos, little Fallen running around screaming, their skeleton archers looking around for the threat. John continued to target the Shamans, until the last of them had been blown apart, then switched his attentions to the archers. He finished them in a slow even pace, then began picking off Fallen until he ran out of ammunition in both clips.

With his Battle Rifle empty he slung it, grabbing his Assault Rifle and hopping his way down to the town by a series of ledges in the rock itself. The last jump was forty feet down, a jump no human could have made, but that his suit absorbed moderately well. He landed and began firing. Streams of armor-piercing 7.62mm ammunition streaked into the Fallen crowds, tearing faces off and limbs from their chests. The screaming of the demons in their panic increased until the Chief finally shut off his audio totally.

Chief's attentions had drawn the attention of something else, a very large something else. The Spartan's first clue was the massive blow to his back that sent him flying. He picked himself up then held his surprise in. The figure was massive, over 10 feet tall, clearly undead but of a special kind. Chief opened fire, rounds tearing into the creature, but the brute simply grunted and kept on slowly plodding his way. Chief got up and slowly retreated back to the cliff wall, emptying his clip into the creature's face and loading his last clip in. This must be Griswold; only he was large enough to be this…thing, according to Akara's descriptions.

He finished reloading, then slung his assault rifle. Pulling out his sword, he charged at the monster, swinging in precise moves, dodging Griswold's powerful but slow blows. Griswold's left arm came off, then his right when it reached out. Griswold continued to advance, no expression on his shattered face dripping with gore and pus. Chief sliced off its left leg, then when it continued to crawl towards him from the sounds he was making he sighed, slicing the skull and the upper chest in half top down.

He swiftly killed the few Fallen left, then opened the cage where the Horadric mage had watched with something akin to awe on his face. No doubt he had never seen such swift brutal death delivered before. Chief opened a town portal, the blue oval flickering with energy. He waved silently, and Cain hobbled with all the speed his aged frame could muster into it with a gasp of thanks. Chief then swiftly surveyed the corpses, looting the most valuable items. He used the Identify scrolls to help ascertain which were magical and which weren't, and was selective based on that for the most money. His backpack soon was filled with weapons, folded armor and jewelry, including a few gems which Chief was confused as to their function.

His last run he went through what seemed to be the blacksmith's shop, probably Griswold's. He found a large, black-silver anvil in the corner, untouched by debris, and something about it called out to the Chief. He picked up the large multi-ton anvil easily, hefting it through the portal, his searching complete.

Cain met him at the portal when he came through. "... I thank you, friend, for coming to my aid. Oh... Blessings on the Rogues! They finally rescued me from that cursed place!

"Regrettably, I could do nothing to prevent the disaster which devastated Tristram. It would appear that our greatest fears have come to pass. Diablo, the Lord of Terror, has once again been set loose upon the world! Some time ago Diablo was slain beneath Tristram. And when our hero emerged triumphant from the labyrinth beneath town, we held a grand celebration that lasted several days. Yet, as the weeks passed, our hero became increasingly aloof. He kept his distance from the rest of the townsfolk and seemed to lapse into a dark, brooding depression. I thought that perhaps his ordeal had been so disturbing that he simply could not put it out of his mind. The hero seemed more tormented every passing day. I remember he awoke many times -- screaming in the night -- always something about 'the East'."

The Chief grabbed his gear and stowed it, including his assault rifle and his battle rifle, Cain following and continuing to tell him the story. "One day, he simply left. And shortly thereafter Tristram was attacked by legions of demons. Many were slain, and the demons left me to die in that cursed cage." Cain's words faltered, and the old man leaned heavily on his walking stick. "I believe now that Tristram's hero was that Dark Wanderer who passed this way before the Monastery fell. I fear even worse, friend... I fear that Diablo has taken possession of the hero who sought to slay him. If true, Diablo will become more powerful than ever before. You must stop him or all will be lost."

"Diablo. Huh," the Chief grunted. "We'll speak later, old man. Follow me to Akara; she'll brief you on the current situation." The mage limped behind him to Akara's tent, where the old woman embraced John's armored frame, then insisted on handing him a ring, which as he watched changed shape to fit his massive gauntleted hand. "You have risked your life to rescue Cain. For that we thank you. This jewel will work to improve you speed of foot, giving wings to your heels."

"Thank you. The two of you should talk." The Chief left, while the two elders talked about their stories and what had occurred. He was met by both Gheed and Warriv, both looking concerned. The Spartan took off his helmet and looked at the two of them. "Mission accomplished."

Gheed chuckled; he was clearly drunk. "I'm told that Tristram now resembles a mead hall... after a Barbarian wedding! I'm surprised you made it back so quickly… Ah, Cain is here... another customer. I haven't been this pleased since a love-starved maiden let down a bit more than her hair."

The Spartan looked at Gheed as the fat merchant wobbled past him to the solace of his tent. Warriv shrugged, and patted the Spartan's shoulder. "Don't take offense, friend. That's how he copes, these days. Only a brave adventurer could return with Deckard Cain. Akara has a reward for your valor, so I hear."

"Already received." Chief showed Warriv the plain bronze band, but Warriv whistled in admiration. He must know his magical items slightly better, the Chief remarked. "A fine ring, this," Warriv continued. "You'll be glad you have it! Months ago, I came across a few survivors from Tristram. They said that Cain had gone half-mad and could no longer distinguish fact from fantasy. I'm glad to see they were wrong."

Chief only hoped that Warriv was right.

Chapter Four, Part Three

John sat alone. He had used his new-found wealth to purchase a tent from Kashya, one which would never have its former occupant returning. He lied down on the thick wool mat, a blanket draped over his chest, doing some thinking, an occupation which he hadn't had much time to do away from the others.

A part of him yearned to go home, back to the UNSC. He wanted—no, needed—to find out if they had succeeded, if the Covenant had been defeated, if the Flood had been truly stopped. It was a haunting thought, in his fitful sleep, that all of his gargantuan efforts might have been in vain, that all of the dead soldiers he had seen on so many different fields might have been just wasted meat.

But…there was another part of him, one that was growing. Viewed logically, he was stuck here. There was clearly no advanced technologies anywhere on this world that could assist him, and wouldn't be. So Chief had to bottle up his feelings, and determine what his future plan of action was. Since he was a soldier and a warrior at heart, it seemed killing this Diablo fellow might just be the thing he needed, something to keep him busy until he could figure things out.

Magic was real, demons were real, at least here. And now…there was the actual physical manifestation of Satan walking around, or close enough from what Cain had told him. The Three Lords of Hell, the Three Brothers, Diablo, Mephisto, and Baal, had ruled The Burning Hells for uncountable eons. Then a massive revolt in Hell had managed to overthrow their rule, the Three being banished here to our world. They had wreaked destruction across most of the planet until the first Horadric Mages had allied with the Angels, warriors from the High Heavens, and he been captured inside mystical artifacts called Soulstones. Mephisto was entombed in the depths of Kurast, the religious Zakarum leadership vowing to eternally guard the evil contained. Baal was captured and entombed in the deepest depths of the desert, out by Lut Gholein. And Diablo…had lasted the longest, fleeing into the uncharted West, where he had been captured and buried deep in the catacombs of Tristram, which at the time was a Horadric fortress.

Over the centuries the evil of the Three had been contained, but clearly something had tipped the cycle. According to Cain the Archbishop of the Kingdom of Khanduras, which now controlled Tristram as well as other towns in the area, had been controlled by Diablo and lured into doing the being's bidding. He kidnapped the young Prince, to provide a vessel for his Dark Lord, and the prince's father the king was driven mad. Khanduras went on a barbaric spree of invasions at the urgings of the mad king, and when their armies were defeated and driven back the king died, cursing all of the soldiers and knights under his command to eternal damnation. And then the demons had begun appearing, slaughtering all in their path, massacring villages and disrupting the trade routes to the East. Adventurers, mercenaries, and heroes had come to find out the cause of this evil, tracking it to Tristram. Only one hero actually succeeded in discovering the truth, and finally ended Diablo's reign of terror.

Only, it seems, to have succumbed to it.

There was gentle rapping of fingers on his tent flap, and the Chief looked up. "Yes?"

Charsi opened the flap. Outside it was night, and the wind was cool on his skin. "You missed dinner, Spartan. I brought you something to eat."

The Chief smiled at her, accepting the bowl of stew gratefully. They had been supplementing their food stores with wild game caught outside their walls, and with Chief's efforts they could now do so much more safely what with less demons floating around. "My thanks." Charsi sat with him while he dug in, as he had not been paying attention to his stomach, and it was complaining fiercely about the lack of treatment. "I wanted to ask you, about what said earlier," Chief said, still eating. "The Horadric Malus."

"When I fled the Monastery, I left behind the Horadric Malus, my enchanted smithing hammer. If you can retrieve it for me, I'll use its magic to strengthen your equipment, and I can make better armor and weapons for the Rogues too to aid you better in your mission. I'm not used to working with such inferior equipment," the woman added, a smile on her lips but a look of sadness in her eyes.

Chief could tell an entrance when he saw one. "Want to talk?"

She smiled at him, her large frame, a legacy of her Barbarian ancestors, shifting closer to him so they could talk. Chief moved over and made room for her. "I just…" and her smile faded. "I could have done so much more, if I had only grabbed that Hammer. I could have saved so many Rogue's lives with it, made better armor. I could have fought with it too, it's a threat in the proper hands." She sighed, leaning forwards, her chin cupped in her hands. "It's hard for us to get over what has happened."

"I know the feeling." She looked up at him; the Spartan had never spoken about his past. Chief hesitated, but then continued. "A…very long way from here, I fought an enemy who called themselves the Covenant. They were much the same as your demons, really, but much much stronger. We couldn't hold them back, and they burnt the ground to ash and glass as they passed through, penetrating all of our defenses." Chief put his bowl down, staring into the dark of his tent remembering. "It was only by a few miracles that we made it alive through the war. Last I've heard of my lands they defeated them, and another foe called the Flood, but I don't know where they are, or how to contact them. I'm lost here."

He felt a hand on his cheek and suddenly Charsi was kissing him, their faces and lips pressed together. Chief went with the flow of the moment, and when Charsi pulled back her eyes glittered, holding both compassion and pure will in them. "Spartan, you aren't alone, not here at least. Remember that. We're all here to help each other out."

"Yeah—" then he was interrupted by the large woman jumping on top of him.

The next morning Chief woke up to the sunlight trickling into his eyes through a rip in the tent cloth. He slowly moved away from Charsi, who smiled in her sleep then grabbed the covers to her bosom. Chief smiled, though he was slightly confused. With human psychology he knew the purported value of human intimacy to relieve stress, but John had never done that before. He moved quietly, gathering up their scattered clothing and folding them, placing Charsi's clothing by her side. She was strong, enough to keep up with him it seemed, probably legacy of her Barbarian blood, Chief mused.

He was still watching over her when she woke up, sitting up and yawning. "Good morning," he said hesitantly.

"Why hello there," Charsi smirked. She spotted her clothing. "Wow, and you even bothered to fold it. Thank you, that's sweet."

"Um, sure."

Charsi look at him as she began slowly dressing. "Are you all right?"

Chief shrugged. "That was my first time."

"Really? Sure didn't seem like it to me." She smiled. "You actually kept up. I don't think I've ever found somebody who could do that."

"Really."

"Really. Disadvantage of being who I am: I either scare the men off because of my size, or I crush them into jelly when they're in my grasp." She smiled wickedly at him, then finished buckling her belt.

Chief felt a tinge of humor was in order, and he grinned. "Just so long as you buried the bodies appropriately afterwards."

Charsi leap on top of him again.

Chief didn't get out of his tent until late in the afternoon. After grabbing some leftovers from breakfast, Charsi walked with him and watched him put on his armored suit. "Interesting design," she said, clearly trying to comprehend how the suit functioned. No doubt it looked like nothing she had ever seen before in terms of armor designs. To her it was an odd arrangement: the Spartan slid into the legs, which had remained propped upright and locked into place. Then he moved several thick tree branches above his head, in such a way that the upper half of the suit, helmet attached, slowly slid over him. He slid his arms into the arms, then the suit locked itself to each other, and there was a strange hissing sound.

"My former land had…some really skilled blacksmiths," Chief said. He knew full well that Charsi, for all of her other graces and skills, did not have the education necessary to comprehend the millions of technological tidbits that had gone into this suit. The most he could try to do was to explain it in terms she could understand. "Multiple layers in the suit, hence its thickness. It's been enchanted to enhance my strength and speed, though nobody else aside from myself can wear it without the suit injuring them badly. Also, it can enable me to talk to spirits on the field, who can advise me on the situation, where enemies are and how much of a threat they are."

"Spirits?" Charsi's interest spiked at that. "How do you attract them to speak to you?"

"It's…rather complicated. I don't attract them, more like a spirit can be placed in the armor with the appropriate rituals. I had a spirit with me, but she departed, it seems." Chief finished checking his systems; everything read nominal. The suit fully activated, internal diagnostics complete, and he moved at a brisk pace back to camp, Charsi following him watching the suit's movements. "I want to show you something."

Chief moved to his chest, where his equipment was in storage. He pulled out two explosive potions and the Assault Rifle, then walked to the fire was, where Warriv was napping but otherwise it was empty. "I assume you know how explosive potions work?"

"Not particularly. Spells are more Akara's field," Charsi admitted.

"It's not a spell. I took apart one of the potions and tested the contents inside, and it turned out to be a rare chemical, which when jarred violently explodes due to the energy inside of it. Watch." Chief took one potion, loosened the cap, then threw it. The explosion was sharp, a loud bang, and a swath of dirt flew everywhere. Warriv fell out of his hammock, coughing and brushing dirt off of his face.

"Sorry, Warriv!" Charsi giggled.

"Don't mind him. Now, watch this." Chief took his Assault Rifle, set it to single-shot, then fired one round at the dirt. A sharp crack erupted, like a whip lashing through the air. Charsi and Warriv jerked back in surprise, and Kashya and the Rogues shot out of their tents bows drawn. "JUST ME!" the Spartan shouted, then the others withdrew, though mildly curious as to what he was doing.

The Chief ignored them, turning back to Charsi motioning for her to follow. As they walked he pointed to a flat piece of wood that he had pointed his weapon at. Charsi noticed the hole, wide as a saucer plate, and remembered it. Chief walked several yards past that, and ran his fingers through a skiff in the dirt, picking up a pointed metallic cone. He put it in her hand, and she looked at it. It had grooves in the side. She looked at the Spartan, almost grasping what he was trying to imply but not completely.

John shrugged. He put his rifle on the ground and pulled out the clip. He pointed to the bullet, then pulled out a round from the clip. They were the same, aside from the casing. "Inside this, there's a hollow tube. The round gets placed in the tube from the clip," and he snapped the clip home, "and then in the casing there's a tiny amount of the explosive from the potion, or something close to it." He fired again, a second loud crack.

Charsi's eyes widened at the implications. "The force of the blast…gets the metal cone pushed out through the opening?"

"At very high speeds, fast enough to punch through any armor." John grinned under his helmet; she was putting the two together, cause and effect.

"Amazing."

"It's the same principle as a crossbow or bow, though instead of a stretched string providing the force to push it out, it's a tiny amount of explosive."

Charsi leapt onto the armored figure, hugging him tight. "Ooh, I could do a lot with this! You want me to try and build a few of those?" and she pointed to Chief's assault rifle.

Chief quickly shook his head. "No. That weapon is very advanced; the smiths in my country have had many many years to perfect their designs. What I can do, though," he amended as he saw Charsi's expression fall, "is to show you how to build a primitive version, one which could compete with say your crossbows at range, though they are loud. We call them flintlock rifles, and it's one of the simpler designs that my people know of."

Charsi's face brightened at that. "And then go from there, improving our designs until we can build your weapon?"

"Something like that," and Chief grinned.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five, Part One

Rogue scouts had returned back to camp after a long sojourn, and reported that indeed Andariel had taken up residence deep in the bowels of the Monastery. Chief prepared to go out at hearing this. He'd caused considerable harm to the demon patrols in the area, and he was tired of waiting.

The past few weeks had gone well, alternating between slaughtering demons en masse with the Hayabusa blade, coaching Charci in the fine engineering of firearms, and sleeping and resting to go back out again. Now and again Charsi visited him for a nightly session, and Chief had begun to find himself enjoying them, despite what he felt as a lack of time to "do things properly." Charsi assured him that that wasn't a problem; apparently he was learning quite quickly.

In any case, he was preparing to leave. Seeing as he wasn't quite sure what he was going to face, as the Rogue's reports had been rather conflicting and sparse, Chief was bringing his Assault Rifle and the Brute Spiker as well as the Hayabusa blade, feeling to be better safe than sorry.

There were a number of things he needed to do: retrieve the Horadric Malus, assassinate enemy commanders, especially the leaders of demon patrols, and if he managed to kill Andariel, though he wasn't planning to get quite that far. He had his Identify and Town portal scrolls with him in his pack, and he was getting ready to use the waypoint. Chief wasn't entirely comfortable with the teleporting stones, but he needed to get there in a useful time period.

He was rechecking his gear when Charsi distracted him. "Spartan! I think I got it right this time!" Her face was coated in black soot and slight burn marks, but she was grinning from ear to ear.

"So I see. Let's take a look." They went to her forging area where she had been trying different chemical combinations in the ratios that the Spartan had told her to combine. Unfortunately the measuring tools that she had were rather unreliable and didn't match up with how he remembered the formula, but it was close enough for her to experiment. Charsi picked up a bag of the solution and threw it a few meters away, where it exploded in a flash of white light and left a small crater. She was spattered in dirt again, Chief's shields letting the dirt bounce off. "Quite nice." He took off his helmet and she kissed him, very excitedly. "Very nice."

"You flatterer." Charsi tucked her hair back in its band, and looked around. "So, what do you think?"

"It seems you've improved on the formula quite a bit since I let you at it. What are you using for the ingredients?" They looked it over, and before long John showed her how to make smokeless gunpowder, with a few modifications to her ideas. She had proved to be quite adept at basic chemistry, enough that Chief felt confident that when he left to continue the chase, she could hold the fort, so to speak, on her own.

He congratulated her, then grabbed his gear. He held his breath, then stepped into the stone, speaking the destination code he had seen on the other one. The world turned inside out, all the colors in the world inverted, and he released his breath at the other side. It was raining, and but for his armor and shields Chief would have been soaked within minutes. He held the Assault Rifle and ran.

Right now he was in a landscape of marshes, but close by it merged, going uphill into a series of stony highlands. The Monastery was at the top, already visible from his angle as a monolithic spire jutting into the sky, a wall of stone and glass. Chief was reminded of a combination of medieval castle and neo-gothic cathedral. With this climate, it seemed that even the demons were staying inside, so Chief made good time, going from one level to the next. Here was slightly more difficult, as there were numerous undead archers and magic-casters here. He kept his fire to three-burst rounds, which sufficed to kill most of the threats he came across. Chief was extremely grateful for the limitations of medieval-Renaissance tech, which were mainly in communications. Chief could slaughter half a corps of demons before word got back to their higher overlords that anything had gone wrong in the first place.

He scouted out bounds of the territories, before turning his attention to the Monastery itself. He could see with his zoom function a small quartet of powerful Corrupted Rogues at the entrance, guarding their dark unholy god from any threat. Chief smiled, then crouched into the landscape, taking aim. The first Rogue's head exploded, then the second and third, all in less than two seconds. The fourth managed to take a step before her shout was cut off by suddenly not having a jaw anymore.

Chief holstered his weapon and drew his sword. Close-quarters weapons would be more valuable in this sort of internal environment, and he held the speed advantage. He nudged the thick massive door with a small grunt of effort, and quietly poked his head in. He walked in, as he saw nothing. The central hall was empty of enemies, and he continued to the second door, where Corrupted Rogues and the large apes smashed the inner door aside in their efforts to reach him. Chief reserved one stroke for each, two for the apes. Soon body parts littered the floor, and he continued on. He took special care to strip the bodies of anything interesting.

The facility was so massive, with three parks and three rooms, that it took time to find the right door which led to the Barracks. Chief leaned in, hearing the growls and grunts of countless creatures, and he sheathed his sword. It was time to break out the big guns.

Chapter Five, Part Two

_Flashback_

"The Anvil of Fury!"

"The Anvil of what?" Chief could be patient.

"Oh, you wouldn't know." Charsi threw her blonde mane behind her, looking intently at the shimmering black anvil in front of her. "The Anvil of Fury is a demonic artifact, used by the great forge smiths of Hell to forge some of their most powerful weapons or armors. With this, I can forge weapons for the Rogues unparalleled in power, as they will be imbued with the powers of Chaos."

"Are you sure that's…entirely safe?" Chaos didn't sound entirely too good.

"Pretty sure. I'm good at what I do. You found this in Griswold's shop, right?"

"Yes. It seemed to call out to me, so I took it with me."

"You did the right thing." Charsi grinned. "Andariel won't know what hit her."

_Now_

Chief ducked to the side, as fireballs whizzed over his heads and the little black Fallen swarmed around him. A few quick flicks of his blade and he took care of most of the Fallen, but those Shamans were entrenched behind their positions, massive crates of material that Chief couldn't leap over due to the geometries of the room. So…he improvised. He grabbed an explosive potion, whispered the activation clause, then threw three in rapid succession. They rattled behind the Shamans, and their howls of outrage were drowned out by a tremendous roar, and the boxes blew outward and slowly collapsed.

First problem taken care of. Chief was moving in slow-time as he called it, the world crawling past his enhanced senses. Right now the closest threat in the room was a sextet of Corrupted Rogues with pikes, coming at him with unusual speed. They were glowing, hence enhanced; explosive potions wouldn't do much against them. He sheathed his blade, pulled his Assault Rifle. He had only about half a clip left, but he wouldn't need many against these things. Two rounds through the skull of one, then two, then three…within a few seconds, the Rogues lay draped along the floor, their dark features spattered in their own blood and gore.

Chief continued on. In his most recent portal-trip back Charsi had told him based on his description of the Barracks that he was close to the Malus. He pushed on, killing any foes he encountered, using his superior senses and his stealth to maximal advantage.

The first evidence of hostile life when he opened the next door he ran into was a massive fist that slammed into him. The Spartan was lifted off his feet and thrown across the room, the two-ton suit and its occupant crashing into the stone wall and through it, only stopping when he hit another one. Chief picked himself up from the floor, then grimaced. That had actually hurt, and his shields were half depleted.

What came through the hole in the wall was at least twelve feet tall, with horns on its head, roughly humanoid. "Tonight I shall feast on your bones!" the beast roared, its peach-colored hide moving at incredible speed for something so large. Chief picked himself up, barely dodging the demon's next blow. The creature tore another hole through the wall behind him, and Chief grabbed his blade which he'd dropped. The demon came at him, and Chief flicked his blade at his arm, and it bounced off of the demon's hide. The Chief barely had time to notice this before the demon's fist hit him again, throwing him across the room again and dropping his shields to nothing.

Chief shook his head. Enough of this. He unslung his Assault Rifle and emptied the clip into the beast's chest as it rushed him. The bullets barely had an effect, but they punctured its thick hide unlike his sword, and actually knocked the beast backward. Chief emptied the last ten rounds into its face, then pulled out his Brute Spiker. Leaping on top of the creature, still writhing and screaming in pain from its chest and facial injuries, Chief stood on top of it and emptied the Spiker into the demon's eyes. The beast slumped to the ground, dead, and Chief got off, but not before kicking it several time full force. By the time he was done, the beast was a bag of skin holding the jelly of its internal organs and shattered bones.

He slung his useless rifle and the Spiker, and picked up the blade. Stealthily moving across the rubble, Chief could hear the rumble of countless demons through the door that he'd initially opened. He smiled, then threw in the rest of his explosive potions, scattering across the room. The explosions and screams made the barracks shake to its foundations, and when Chief walked in he was silently greeted by the few bodies left intact by the blast. He saw at the far corner of the room, next to a still-burning smithing forge, a large hammer on a rack. Chief instantly recognized Charsi's hammer from her descriptions, and then picked up the large tool, opening a portal and heading back home. Charsi would be most pleased; this might very well be the tool that turned the war in their favor.

The next morning they got to work, as Charsi had insisted on "rewarding" her hammer's savior, leaving even him exhausted at the end of it. Chief dressed in a tunic and a pair of pants that Akara had woven for him, and the two went to her forge. Charsi had had an idea, which had descended from one of their post-coital sessions a few weeks ago:

"_So your armor, you're telling me it isn't magical?" She was taking a look inside one of his gauntlets for his suit, with his permission. She marveled at how small everything was, but had no clue as to what the circuits and strange blue goo was for._

_Chief smiled, one of the few times he did so. The habit was growing on him. "No, it's not. Picture what I've told you about the flintlocks, right?"_

"_Right." She put it down, rolling over to stare at him in the moonlight._

"_Well…" He found this difficult to say. Where was he to start? "It's about how you think about the world. Where I come from, we don't have magic."_

"_Really?" Charsi looked skeptical._

"_Really. So we had to do everything the hard way, and had to discover techniques and methods for making more and more powerful weapons that were done by brute force, brute labor. Blood, sweat, and tears, as a person once said." John smiled in recollection. "My suit might resemble plate mail armor, but really it's as far beyond that as say plate armor is to a leather jacket."_

"_How can you make something this sophisticated with brute force?" Charsi had picked up the gauntlet, alternating between looking at it and staring at John._

"_Well it began with brute force, then more and more powerful machines that could take the place of human muscle. Machines never tire, unlike humans, so eventually as machines became more and more advanced, our weapons became more powerful and more complex, as well."_

"_Hmm."_

_Chief leaned in, kissing her for a long time. He leaned back a few minutes later; her face was flushed. "Just trust me."_

"_Um, sure. Wait…if this suit isn't magical, maybe the Horadric Malus would work on it? It's designed to imbue non-magical artifacts, like armor and weapons, with enchantments. Maybe it could work on your armor."_

"_Maybe." Chief liked the idea of gaining more advantages in combat against his enemies. "Might work on my sword, as well. It isn't magical, either."_

"_I'll ask Akara, see if we can work something up. You're our hero, after all," she grinned, and snuggled up next to him. After that they had no need for words._

Chief smiled internally at the memory, but focused on the task at hand. "You're sure this is going to work?"

Charsi silenced him with a finger on his lips. Her eyes twinkled. "Just trust me." She turned, looked at the forge. Chief positioned the Anvil of Fury in the center, in the hottest fires critical for the spell. He finished, then at Charsi's instructions placed his sealed suit of MJOLINOR armor onto the anvil, the anvil taking the weight but slightly sinking into the embers. Chief's enhanced musculature burned like fire, as lifting that suit had taken nearly all of his strength to do. "Ah, Akara's here," Charsi smiled.

Chief looked at the wizened woman approaching their position, then turned to Charsi. "I thought you had everything," he panted.

"I do now. Only Akara knows the rituals needed to any extent, so she'll be helping me with this."

"All right." Chief helped the old woman when she looked unsteady, then looked around. "What am I supposed to do?"

"For now, nothing," Akara said. "I need to place the seals, to keep the powers of Chaos contained within a sphere of influence. After that, Charsi can begin her work."

Chief sat, watching and memorizing all he could. Akara sprinkled first a pentagram of white powder with the anvil and the armor at its center, then a red circle connecting the pentagram's spokes. After the red circle was a blue, then, a green, until all the colors had been used. A strange language issued forth from Akara's lips, and for a moment a yellow glow issued along the lines of force, then faded, but the air remained rippling above the seal. Akara spoke. "The seals are in place, Charsi. You may proceed."

"Thanks." The talented blacksmith approached, the Horadric Malus in her hands. She tentatively crossed the outer circle, the air flared, and she gasped as her hair flared with static. She gulped, but continued, each circle crossed presenting more energy, until she stood at the anvil itself, the nexus of all, and Chief could the air writhing with currents of energy, which Charsi seemed unaffected by.

Placing the hammer next to her, Charsi took a ceremonial knife provided to her by Akara and slowly nicked her thumb, dribbling blood on the center of the chest piece in the shape of a pentagram. The blood flared, and then the symbol faded, the energies in the air drawn to the symbol and to the artifice which contained it. As the last of the wisps of energy floated close in, Charsi lifted the hammer and struck it with all of her considerable might.

An explosion of light occurred. The lines of force were shattered, and Charsi was hurled across her work area, smashing into a pile of tools. John rushed to her side, but she was fine aside from a few scratches. "Look," Akara breathed in wonder.

The two looked. His suit was glowing, shimmering with a golden light with occasional flickers to a black cloud-like appearance, hiding his suit from view. Chief stood, approaching the wonder, running his hand along its surface. All of the previous damage it had suffered on the Halo, all of the dents and such, were gone, its pearlescent sheen like the suit had just come from the factory.

With an increasing frenzy, Chief began putting the suit on, breaking the seals of the suit. He clambered into the legs, then the chest piece he heaved above himself, then the arms locked into place, then the helmet. As the last seal clicked into place and the armor pressurized, Chief felt the weirdest sensation, like a thousand prickles along his flesh. The main HUD display came online, the images sharper and clearer than he remembered, pulsating with golden energy. He tentatively activated the voice-com systems. "I…think we're good to go."

"Test it out, Spartan."

Chief moved, and virtually before he was aware of it consciously he was already sprinting, at much higher speeds than he had ever gotten to before. The suit's reaction times were off the scale, and when he tried to stop he tumbled into a palisade, shattering it with his impact. He moved as slowly and carefully as possible, and then stood up shakily. "That was…unexpected," he sighed.

What else had changed, he wondered.

Chapter Five, Part Three

Chief moved at virtually incomprehensible speeds through the Monastery. Since his suit's repairing and enhancements he had returned to the Monastery, only to find it retaken by demonic reinforcements. With his new suit Chief had begun exterminating the new legions with a vengeance, killing thousands with his blade which had been similarly treated by the Horadric Malus and the Anvil of Fury.

Though the new capacities of his suit lay unknown, Deckard Cain had thought its abilities would manifest by whatever actions or thoughts the Spartan undertook, so Chief was thinking as viciously as possible with a mind towards maximum destruction, just in case the old mage was right. In this world of magic and such, it couldn't hurt to try, and at some level even magic had to have some sort of consistent logic to it somewhere in its effects.

He was fighting a group of Corrupted Rogues with his bare hands, as his blade had been knocked from his hands in the first seconds of the attack. Each hammer blow of his fists or swift chops of his stiffened fingers killed another, but more poured in to take the dead one's place. He had felt some sort of static presence in the air while he fought, and now as he continued the assault the static presence in his mind flared, and a beam of brilliant lightning flared from his hands, arcing outwards and striking the Rogues, burning them to cinders and blasting a massive hole in the wall.

The Chief moved aside from the falling rubble, and looked around one of the many rooms of the jail in surprise. That…lightning attack…had been entirely unexpected, and the static had been manifested, maybe, from the tension in his mind? It was a stretch, but the Spartan, who had been raised in a world of science and logic, had no permanent answers to this problem.

"Lightning, you say?" Cain mused, sitting by the fire. Chief and Charsi sat with him, Chief because he was concerned about this and Charsi because of her curiosity regarding her first creation with the two magical objects. Neither male had objected, and the three sat though the cold of night was growing.

"Yeah, from my hands. There was a…tension in the air too, sort of like what one feels right before a thunderstorm."

"What, perhaps, was your state of mind?"

"I had in mind our previous conversations, and was focused, but angry. I was using my anger at the Covenant, at the Flood, at the Prophets, and keeping it in the forefront of my thoughts, in case it did something like this."

"But did your anger really cause this?" Charsi said, waving her arms. "I mean, who knows what's going on here? The Anvil of Fury was made and imbued in the Burning Hells, as well as elements of the Horadric Malus, so its powers are partly of Chaos. Anything could be going on."

"Charsi has a point, Spartan," Cain rumbled, his eyes flaring in the fire light. "What we have done with those two magical constructs has never been attempted, and the consequences might be severe."

"I'm aware of that," Chief hissed. "But this weapon might allow me to kill this Andariel demon faster, and for me to hunt down Diablo and his path faster as well. I'm…not supposed to be here. I have an obligation to my people, and to get back home to them, somehow," he finished. "I can't rest, not while the Covenant are still out there."

"Diablo is heading east for some foul purpose. And the only passage east is through the Monastery gate. Obviously, Diablo summoned Andariel to block any pursuit. For her part Andariel hopes to win Diablo's favor... the lesser demons are always vying for positions of power within the unholy hierarchy! As long as you're aware of the risks of your suit, Spartan, that should not be a problem," Cain said again. "Your suit was incredibly deadly before; now it might very well become a monster you may not be capable of controlling."

Charsi had begun creating magic-imbued armor and weapons for the Rogues, who were beginning to go out into the wilderness to hunt demons with more confidence than before. Charsi was experimenting with ways to attempt to control the reactions of the magic with Akara's help so that certain effects would be achieved more consistently, but for now the Rogues were fine with even unpredictable enchantments. It was an element of the lore between the two artifacts that no matter what the effect was on the object that effect would be always a positive one.

Now that the Rogues' performance in battle was much better than before, Chief was again employing groups of veteran Rogues with their improved armor and weapons in his assaults. Every time he came back to where he had left off it seemed that more demons had returned, so Chief was continuously fighting an uphill battle in some ways. The Rogues assisted, some with enchanted heat-seeking arrows and others with blades of unusual sharpness or elemental properties, of blazing fire or freezing cold to the touch.

It was night back at the Rogue encampment, but currently the Spartan and his group of medieval commandoes were in the third level of the Monastery which he had been warned was probably around where Andariel would be. So far Chief had fought, killed and catalogued for possible future study giant spiders, walking mounds of fur, huge crocodile-like reptiles that emitted lightning like he had done, and hordes of imps, orcs and all sorts of Fallen. Chief was amazed at the capacity of the Lord of Terror and his minions to suborn or corrupt otherwise perfectly ordinary wildlife to their causes, and to make them so deadly too.

To his left and behind was Kathara, one of the Rogue's skilled snipers. She was breathing steady, her aura glowing crimson. To Chief's right and front was Franna, another Rogue. She excelled in Potions, especially explosive ones. She had taken fondly to Chief's new explosive grenades, and had a full clip of them on her belt. The third one. Hirasi, was forward of their position scouting ahead.

Hirasi returned. "Nothing."

"Good." The Spartan readied his blade, checking its flawless blackness, then moved forward, the Rogues flanking him on all sides. The corridor led to a single door, a thick oak at least a foot thick. Chief moved, and took position on the left, while the Rogues readied their explosive arrows. He nodded, then kicked the door down, throwing a grenade in. The Rogues followed suit, and the rustling they had heard gave way to a huge rumbling and clap of thunder, and muffled screams. The group had entered, but they need not have bothered; the room was full of corpses, and the few survivors were dying rapidly.

They had been guarding… "The last level," Chief sighed. Finally.

He opened a town portal and the group returned to the encampment, the Rogues returning to restock on arrows and Chief to Charsi's forge. "We've made it," he said, taking off his helmet.

"Andariel's lair?" Charsi squeaked.

"Yeah. Reeks of darkness, and cold. She's definitely down that set of stairs."

"Be careful, Spartan. If you are the hero that you seem to be, now is the time to prove it. But…I want you back intact, do you hear me?" Charsi had embraced the armored figure, cradling her head on his shoulder.

John wasn't entirely sure what to do, with Charsi sniffling in his shoulder. She was acting like he was already dead. He pulled her away gently, prompting her to look up. "I'm coming back. Spartans don't die; they go to Hell and regroup."

"Not funny." But she wasn't sniffling anymore; that was a plus.

"Nobody's perfect." He donned his helmet after kissing her slowly. "Keep the fire going."

The Spartan moved first down the spiral staircase, the Rogues following. Hirasi had two grenades ready to throw, just in case, and Franna had her bow cocked, her arm shaking. "Relax," Chief whispered. "I hear movement." The Rogues twitched a nod out in response.

Chief opened the last door. The room was rectangular, and partially collapsed. Wooden beams criss-crossed the room, some on fire some not. Mixed in with the debris and the flames were various imps and zombies, some moving, some possibly asleep. Chief waved two fingers arced high to Hirasi, and she threw her grenades with perfect aim. Muffled explosions were covered by the hissing of the steady flames, and the imps lay dead before they had had time to scream their presence out in warning.

The Rogues moved left, Chief right. He heard the twang of bows and the thumps of bodies falling to the ground, but focused on one zombie, with black skin coming towards him. A lightning-fast movement, and the zombie's head was falling off in three pieces. "Door," he whispered, and the Rogues converged on the door he'd discovered. Unlike the others it was made of stone, and heavy; Chief ran at full speed, smashing it with two blows of his fists and legs. The stone flew into the room, crushing three imps who had been right in front of it. Behind their oozing crushed bodies the demons stirred.

Chief and the Rogues moved in for the kill.

Chapter Five, Part Four

Time slowed to a crawl, and Chief looked up, It was a state unlike his normal Spartan Time, where time crawled; now, everything had stopped, the Rogues and demons alike frozen in midair, arrows in-flight and imp swords and spears raised in challenge. The flames billowed, particles of light and swirls of current frozen as well. Yet Chief could move, and move normally, like the world hadn't frozen.

"Spartan," said a calm deep voice, a ripple in the air, a vibration that laid the Spartan's nerves to rest. "Rest easy, now; the care of the High Heavens is upon you."

"Who are you, and what do you want?" Chief stood still, his sword held in front, ready to move at a moment's notice. "Show yourself, being! If you want to talk, talk to me face to face."

"As you wish." With a silent bellow of light an angel stood in front of the Chief, glowing in golden armor covered in sacred holy runes, and wings made of the purest light emitted from his back. A golden scabbard hung on the angel's thigh, and the being unsheathed it, the blade aflame with a golden fury of its own, like flames on water. "I am the Archangel Tyrael, Spartan, and I have come to speak with you now, here at the turn of the tide."

Chief stood in awe. Despite all of the things he had witnessed and seen, all of the magnificent beings and worlds he had encountered, he had never such a vision of holiness as this. Though he could not see the angel's face itself, it being hooded and black, the rest of its being practically radiated divine purity. Chief frowned, as a thought occurred to him. "How do I know you're not a servant of dark powers? It's said that demons can cloak themselves in holy scripture if it suits their purposes."

"A wise saying, and one that is best answered not by words, but by actions. Come, Being of Light. Shine your holy raiment on this place, and prove to your good friend here the truth of my words."

"Finally." Another blaze of searing white light later, and Chief beheld…"Cortana?" She was the same being as she ever was, white and blue, a being of light…but with wings of her own, and a sword of blue fire on her hip as well. She looked like she could fight in the world as it was, like himself.

"I'm here, Chief," and John was startled to feel pressure on his hand when Cortana reached for it. She was real, or was, somehow… Cortana sensed John's amazement, and smiled, her face alight with joy of her own. "Yeah, I'm manifest. Tyrael here's shown me many things, and he's the real deal as angels go, but we can speak of that later." The light from the two ethereal beings dimmed, and Chief could finally see his surroundings again, still frozen. Cortana sniffed in disdain at the demons and creatures of the dark. "First off, we need to get rid of them."

"Cortana, are with me?"

"Hell yeah!", then turned as Tyrael seemed to wince at her choice of words. "Sorry."

"Good. Andariel's here, and once we take care of her interference with the pass I can continue my travels east. Diablo is my eventual goal, but he's far ahead of us."

"So, you have joined the quest of the last Horadric mage, Deckard Cain, then," Tyrael rumbled, the air resonating with the raw power of the divine. "He will need your prowess in the coming battle, for you have proven yourself to be a mighty warrior in our world."

"Fine. I assume you're causing this?" and Chief waved around him.

"Yes. I have frozen time, for the moment, to speak to you of why you are here, and what purpose you have in this realm." Tyrael's form shifted, his sword sheathed into its golden scabbard once more. "You, Spartan, and your friend were not anticipated in the greater Chain of Being. Prophecies from the beginning of Sanctuary, and from the beginning of the Sin War as well, spoke of Agents, for both the Light and the Darkness. It has since come to pass that these Agents have arrived on this world, or I should say been suborned here, by various methods of…persuasion."

"Where do these Agents come from?"

"Other realms, such as yourself, but the importance is that their coming was preordained, begun by the Darkness and finished by the Light. Your coming was not foretold, Spartan, and it is your existence and that of Cortana who just might tip the balance of the Sin War in the Light's favor."

"The war between the Heavens and the Burning Hells has gone for a long time, John," Cortana interrupted, "and Tyrael has been playing gun-runner for the Heavens, bringing in their "Agent" for their side from someplace else. He showed me this being once, and he's nasty, Chief."

"I'll try not to run into him," the Chief dryly commented.

"You will, and you must," Tyrael spoke hurriedly, or as hurriedly as an Archangel gets. "Since the coming of the old prophecies has come to pass, new ones have been foretold since. You will meet the being of Honor, and together the Agent of Darkness will be purged from Sanctuary's shores."

"Okay, change of plans." Chief shrugged. "Right now I have to kill Andariel, so are we done here? Is there anything else I need to know?"

"No, Spartan. Your comrade is returned to you, and you have learned some of the "larger picture," as you refer to it. I leave you here, and a few seconds of solace before the flame of perdition." Tyrael's form rippled, his form flaring into a pinprick of white light, then blinking out.

Time remained still, and Cortana leaped at him, embracing him in a tight hug. Shields crackling, Chief tentatively hugged his old AI friend right back. "I missed you," Cortana whispered, invisible tears trickling down her face.

"Same," John managed to croak out. The two reluctantly separated. "I thought you were dead."

"No, Tyrael rescued me before the demons arrived and gave me a semi-corporeal form. I'm a being of light now, just like he keeps describing me." She shrugged. "As for the wings and stuff, that's just frill. He taught me how to control my energy, how to move, how to fight. Speaking of which…" She eyed Chief's obsidian-black sword enviously. "What have you done with the Hayabusa blade, John," she murmured, running her hands along and through the blade.

"Gave it a tune-up," Chief quipped. "The Rogues have the Anvil of Fury and the Horadric Malus, and they treated my suit and the blade to their dual effects."

"Interesting history behind those two devices, but that'll have to wait. I can feel Tyrael's influence pulling back from us." She handed the blade back to Chief.

"Let's get cracking, then." Time speeded up, then snapped suddenly back to full speed. The Rogues, astonished at Cortana's entrance, leaped backwards, but recovered and poured through the door. "Rogues, forward! Cortana's one of ours!"

The lady in question had her longsword out, blue flame sheathing it. She moved right attacking a group of Fallen and their Shaman, the Rogues moved left firing their explosive arrows in volleys, and Chief moved down the center, using his speed and leaping over a small lake of blood, barreling into a large swarm of imps. He moved, his sword flick-flicking every which way, butchering all in his path. The Fallen and imps, shocked at such audacity, moved forward screaming their battle cries to their dark lords, but Chief's shields held up, with a focus of Chief mind emitting a flare of light, pushing them backwards from him when they got too close. Chief catalogued it, then moved for the kill.

Soon the chamber was empty, and Cortana stood with Chief, the Rogues scavenging arrows as many of their special explosive ones had been used up. "Kathara, get ready and hang back. Franna, prep your poison-tipped arrows; you're with me, Hirasi and Cortana." Chief looked at the blue visage of his friend. "I assume you have some way of long-distance attack?"

"You kidding? Of course I do," and Cortana's waving wings flickered out, lashing into a Fallen carcass, cutting deeply into it. "These wings ain't just for decoration, sweetie."

"Good." Chief gestured towards the massive bronze-engraved door ahead, which until now they had ignored in the brief assault. "Franna will move right, Cortana and Hirasi left. I'm down the center, and Kathara will cover us from the rear as we advance. Throw all of our remaining grenades in there the second I kick down the door; there's no telling what we'll encounter in there."

"Grenades?"

Trust Cortana to bring up his tinkering. "Yeah; I've been teaching how to make them."

"Good for you, boyo." Cortana's pat on the shoulder was more a friendly mocking than anything else.

"We ready?" At their affirmative, he blurred into his version of super-speed as he'd gradually discovered how to do, barreling into the door and ripping it off of its hinges with as much strength as he could muster. The thick bronze doors shattered, the warped metallic doors flying deep into the cavernous chambers, crushing and mutilating all those in their path, which from the startled screams sounded like quite a lot. "Move!"

Chief's sensors acquired over two dozen signatures moving towards them, and his thermal suite registered them as over a dozen of the large lizard-lightning creatures. "Grenades forward!" he barked, and over twenty grenades flew, detonating and shredding all creatures in their path. The pack's signatures vanished from his sensors, and they moved at Chief's signal. "Fallen, right!" he heard Franna shriek, and the twang of arrows flying in rapid succession. Chief took his Spiker out, but saw that she had taken care of it, then ducked as Kathara fired over his head at several Fallen advancing on him.

Then, Chief saw her. A giant over twelve feet tall, covered in scales, with two massive arms and four scorpion-like appendages jutting from her back, the beast must be Andariel. "Cortana and I have Andariel, take out the rest!" he shouted to the Rogues, who moved to the sides, giving them room to maneuver.

Andariel's twisted and warped face sneered at the two figures. "Fear me," the being hissed, then smirked. "An iron warrior and a ghost. What next, dolls and reanimated dogs?" Chief ignored her taunts, rushing forward sword held high. He lashed out, slicing off the tip of Andariel's fingers, but the next blows bounced off of her skin. Contemptuously, Andariel moved faster than Chief believed possible and threw him across the chamber, knocking over a massive pedestal with a bronze cup filled with blood. Red fluid splashed everywhere as Chief stood up, his shields over a quarter depleted. Andariel's sneer increased, as she turned to Cortana. "Ready to play, image?"

"You wanna play?" Cortana sneered, lifting into the air, her wings extending forward. White wings flared, slashing outward and slicing deep into Andariel's body, black ichor spilling out. Andariel reeled backwards in shock, roaring in agony. "Archangel fire? Impossible!"

"Chief, get up!" then Cortana moved in closer for a further attack. While the two figures clashed Chief shakily stood up, grabbing the rubble of the pedestal and hurling it with all of his strength at Andariel's chest. A sharp cracking sound, and the gaping slash that Cortana's wings had ripped open cracked further, Andariel bellowing in further anguish. Chief grabbed the Spiker on his hip, emptying the clip into Andariel's cracked chestplate, until he had run out of rounds, then picking up his sword and joining the conflict once more.

The Rogues, having finished off the rest of the demons in the room through blade and bow, began firing their arrows at Andariel, targeting her eyes and open wounds, the occasional hit causing roar after scream from the flailing beast. Though they inflicted grievous wounds on the demon Andariel gave as good as she got, smashing concrete pillars and stone with ease, throwing Chief across the room several times, only his enchanted armor saving his life. The Rogues were firing a blizzard of arrows into the air, many of them wreaking massive amounts of damage, but they succumbed gradually to Andarial's poison breath and the occasional attack with her arms and claws. Cortana, a being of pure energy, withstood many of Andariel's assaults, continuing the main assault, buying her comrades time to recover from Andariel's offensive maneuvers.

At last, Cortana's blue fire sword wedged inside Andariel, and the beast keeled over in agony, ripping and clawing her own armored shell off in an attempt to purge the fire from her inner soul. Chief leaped on her while she keened in distress, burying his blade inside a wound near her neck and yanking sideways with more strength than he knew he possessed. Andariel's scream cut short as her head departed from its contact with her neck, and Chief leaped off and backed away as flames jutted from the demon's corpse. Flames billowed around the body, wrapping it in a cocoon of death. A scream of unearthly rage issued forth from the ball of hellfire which dissipated as the ground cracked open, the body of the demon queen falling into fire and earth.

Cortana knelt by Chief, who had fallen during the quake. "Are you all right?" she asked softly.

"Yeah." Chief stood up. "What was that?"

"My sword is myself, and allowed me to get past her defenses." Cortana assisted Kathara and Franna; Hirasi was buried under one of the concrete pedestals, and was horrendously injured. Cortana and Chief lifted pieces of rubble off of her, then opened up a portal and brought her through. "Kathara, Franna, get Hirasi to Akara," Cortana waved, and the three departed. "So this is the Rogue Encampment you mentioned, eh?"

"Yeah. Deckard Cain," he said to the old man who was walking up in amazement. "This is Cortana. I'll explain what happened later, but Andariel is dead, and the Monastery's evil has dissipated."

Cain's wrinkled face lit up in joy. "This is a great victory indeed, but many more battles await. I will accompany you on your journey, lending what assistance I can... Remember... Diablo is still out there, seeking something in the desert. I'm afraid that this nightmare will not end until you find what it is that he seeks."

"I know." Chief looked at Cortana, glowing beside him. "But we can handle it."

Wolf tracked through the dense jungle canopy, from tree top to tree top, cloaked and his spear extended. He had been forced to defend himself several times, and had bagged several trophies of interest, placing them in his dimensional bag of holding that had been given to him by the Patriarch. His senses could virtually smell the Darkness in the world, and as he moved south the stench of evil grew and grew.

He sensed an open patch ahead. Moving swiftly, his cloaking device working perfectly, he moved to the light, viewing a dense stone jungle of a large city, and much worthy prey of demons swarming all through it. He could smell the screams of lesser prey from here.

Wolf moved to engage in the hunt, partaking in the chaos of the massacre of Kurast.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter Six, Part One

_Somewhere in the Great Eastern Desert_

The merchant caravan trudged through the thick desert sands, only knowing their way by rickety wooden towers and natural cliff formations. This caravan was the first to travel through the Rogues newly-reclaimed Monastery, and carried both Warriv's and Gheed's separate passengers. Also, along with them came protection of a not-so-inconsiderable nature, as the Chief, several Rogues, and Charsi walked in armor alongside the wagons, while Cortana flew overhead scouting as far ahead as her considerable senses could perceive.

With Andariel's death, the entire encampment had packed their bags and moved out, abandoning the infrastructure at the Encampment aside from a few Rogues. Chief had discussed some ideas with Kashya earlier, and the Rogues were equipped with the newest flintlocks that Charsi had developed as well as their bows if they got into a fight. Chief and Kashya wanted to turn the encampment's considerable defenses to their own use, establishing a colony of Rogues here as well as at the Monastery so that they would never be unprepared again.

For the next month and a half the Rogues had cleaned up the monumental fortress, shoring the defenses and purging the bodies of the unclean and unholy with fire, lots of it. Chief had assisted, his armor allowing him to carry huge numbers of corpses, while Cortana used her holy wings to slice them into more manageable sections.

Speaking of Cortana…Chief looked at Cortana far overhead, almost unseen in the blazing desert sun. Though he was incredibly pleased to see his comrade-in-arm's return and more than welcoming her martial assistance, he couldn't help but notice the way Charsi reacted to her. Due to John's psychology studies it was obvious that Charsi was protective of him even before Cortana and her had been properly introduced; she had shrugged her shoulders, stiffening and leaning towards him just a bit close than normal for her, a bit fast. For now, Chief was ignoring it, not knowing what else to do.

It hadn't helped, as Charsi had insisted on accompanying the caravan to Lut Gholein. Chief, Kashya, and Akara had all objected, saying her efforts were too vital at the Monastery, but Charsi had argued that her numerous blacksmiths-in-training could handle anything thrown at them, and she was needed to help teach the smiths in Lut Gholein how to make the newest models of flintlock rifles, which were rapidly approaching Civil War standards if Chief knew his history correctly (which he did). All reasons which on the surface sounded valid, but Chief had his suspicions.

And so did Cortana. The night before they had all left Cortana had appeared inside his tent, wading through the light fabric as if it wasn't even there. "Chief, we need to talk."

"Sure, sit down." Cortana's wings folded in and shrunk, and she was soon all but a glowing being of light in appearance. "What do you need?"

"Charsi. What's up with her? She has been notoriously uncooperative since I joined this little quest, here. Her coming with us makes absolutely no sense at all, either. She's way more needed here than on a slow-moving caravan."

"Ah, that's hard to explain." Chief pulled his shirt off, pulling the blankets over himself and getting ready to sleep. "I've been helping her learn basic chemistry and the basics for guns, but things…got a little bit complicated after that."

Cortana smiled, or sneered would be a more accurate term. "You got laid, didn't you? Good job Chief!" She high-fived him.

"Um, yeah. Things have been steady for a while now, until you showed up. I think Charsi feels a bit jealous."

"So I can imagine, what with me having fought with you for so long. A Spartan and a Barbarian…my oh my, what children you'll have. New supermen in the neighborhood, certainly good for demon-slaying." Her smile drooped as she spoke.

"Now wait, Cortana. Spartans can't have children."

"Says who?" Cortana snapped back. "I know the files better than anybody currently alive, and believe me the only thing they did was to reduce your hormonal drives, not sterilize you! With the genetic and chemical treatments they've pumped into you any offspring are guaranteed to be off the charts in terms of their capabilities, and with these…Barbarian women, oh hell yeah things are going to be busy!...If you two have any, that is."

Of course, timing that it is, Charsi chose her moment at that time to peek her head in the tent. Cortana blazed brightly in surprise, then flickered out, her light fading. John turned to Charsi, who had a very faint look of smugness about her. "Charsi, I was trying to calm her down. Cortana doesn't act like that for no reason."

"That was before Tyrael did what he did to her, John." Charsi shrugged. "Maybe she's been changed by the Archangels more than you know?"

John had considered that, but merely said calmly, "I doubt it."

"Suit yourself. Can I join you?"

"Sure." Charsi crept in and snuggled up against the Spartan, John embracing her close to him but thinking long and hard about what to do next.

The Chief shook his head, and focused on the desert terrain around him. There had been conflicting reports of humanoid creatures living out here as well as large insects and swarms of smaller mosquito-like bugs, and with a being of Diablo's power no one knew what he might have done with them. The seven Rogues which had come with them were armed with both their bows and the new flintlock rifles that Charsi had made, and were testing them out by shooting at desert lizards and such for food later on.

The caravan was making time slowly, as the hot white sun beat down on them. Only Chief and Cortana were effectively immune to the scorching heat, but even Chief's suit registered mild stress to the suit's cooling systems. Cortana, Being of Light that she was, could care less about the material world unless she chose to feel it.

Charsi was behind him, covered in a mix of thick chain mail, bronze arm and leg greaves, and a thick Greek-style helm with even a horse-hair plume sticking out of the top. Last John had looked at her she was incredibly uncomfortable, but he had left her to her patrols. She was her own being, after all, and she would decide if she needed to get out of the heat.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned his head. Charsi was looking him with a strange expression. "We need to talk." He tilted his head, and she clarified. "Alone." They walked away from the rest of the caravan, farther out, where nobody could hear them bar possibly Cortana, and was high overhead busy. He took off his helmet and they walked, waiting for Charsi to say what she needed to say.

When she finally summoned up her nerve, it was quick, a hammer blow to John's senses. "I'm pregnant."

Chapter Six, Part Two

The world stopped spinning. "Uh, repeat?"

Charsi grinned at him. "I am pregnant," she said slowly with a mock-serious voice. "With your child." She pointed for emphasis at his armored frame.

John quite honestly had no clue what to do. As a Spartan he had never been taught any contingencies covering these scenarios, and he above all others knew how sacred human life was, from having it wasted so flagrantly across his life. He had seen families, and how they had loved and supported one another, much like his Spartans had with him and he with they. There was even a Spartan, back home at least, Maria-062, who was the only Spartan to be raising a family.

But this…was entirely different. "What's the plan, then?" he said in a flat, stunned voice.

Charsi sniffed, sweat trickling down her cheek, the hot desert wind caressing her blond tresses. "I don't know. I'm going to Lut Gholein to teach them about the guns that you've showed us, but after that…I want to stay with you."

"You shouldn't," John objected. His child…it was starting to sink through just how monumentally important this was. "Where I'm going, it isn't safe. Following Diablo will be risky at best, suicidal at worst. Spartans handle suicidal occasions well, but I can't say the same of you. I can't take that chance."

The two paused, the sand whooshing around their feet. "I'm Charsi Nokli of the Bear Clan of the North," she snapped, "and I am perfectly capable of handling myself, child or not!"

"That may be true now, Charsi, but demons would view you later on in the pregnancy as a snack. I'm supposed to keep you safe."

"Spartan, drop the Paladin in shining armor routine. It suits you, just..not now." Charsi looked down, then John cradled her jaw upwards with his hand. "I need to help you."

"And you can, and lots more besides," John said gently. "I know a lot more than how to make guns. I can teach you things, skills, capabilities that could improve the quality of life for many people across this world. I will teach you, and you will teach others, and by doing this you can make this world worth saving while I save it."

"I was taught to fight."

"And you'll be fighting, just in a different sense." He embraced her, and she tentatively embraced him right back, her head resting solidly on his bronze-colored armor.

She sniffled. "All right, I'll do it, but—"

The sand around the two exploded in a flurry, and a massive scaly tail whipped out and smashed the Chief forward, where a gaping hole in the sand erupted, lined with spikes at the bottom. Before he knew he was falling, and the Chief shuddered, putting on his helmet and activating his shields just as he fell. The spikes crumpled underneath his half-ton mass and his shields, but he lay stunned on the floor of the pit, blood trickling out of his mouth, with a woman's screams echoing in his ears—

—He jerked awake, and looked up. The blazing sun-filled sky was gone, replaced with a dimming blue; many hours had gone by, he could tell. Kathara, Franna, and Hirasi were by his side, a large long rope reaching down.

He jerked himself to his feet. "What happened?"

"Ambush, Spartan, by the Desert Snakes. They took Charsi."

"We'll get her back." Chief took a large breath, then leapt clear 12 feet straight up, up and out of the pit. The Rogues were astonished, but followed quickly out themselves, onto their horses and riding full on. The Chief was already of them, somehow knowing where to go.

John was monitoring the IR spectrum via his suit's sensors as he ran, plus the faint, almost-gone trail the Snakes had left. Charsi had been dragged, then picked up; the IR trail continued, but less, leading to a canyon with a massive stone door carved into the side of one side. He prepped his Hayabusa Blade and checked his Brute Hammer, then continued onwards, sensing via the suit that the Rogues were following on horseback.

They all made it to the stone door at roughly the same time. There were deep grooves in the sand where the stone had been dragged closed. All of the Rogues save two had come to his aid, and for that Chief was glad. He ran at full speed, lightning rippling out from his fury at his command, blowing the stone door to large flying shrapnel. He fell forward, but blackness lay in front of him. His suti lights flickered on, and he raced down the dark passageways, dispatching the Snake patrols in the area. The Rogues followed as best as they could, but the Chief's speed, the Snakes he had left injured, plus the winding passages, ensured that they soon were hopelessly behind him.

Chief continued on. Charsi was being dragged again, they had stopped in a large chamber (which he killed all of the creatures in), then they had continued. Chief dropped some small incendiary flares behind him as he ran, markers for the Rogues to catch up to him. Eventually he made his way to a second level, with a set of deep stairs and loud hissing at the bottom. He forced himself to wait until he had reinforcements, but it was only a few minutes before the Rogues found him. He nodded, motioned there were seven or eight down there that he had counted via hisses, then they continued.

The second level was a single large room, with a massive altar in the center and unholy stone statues lining the whole area. Snake warriors covered the entire area, massive serpents wielding massive blades from shrunken limbs, even from their jaws. They charged as one, and Chief dove into them with a fury he didn't know he was capable of possessing. It was beyond the cool calm of combat, or the calculated blows he usually committed; no this was pure, pure and fiery, a fire that cleansed all of his opponents before him like leaves from a gust front.

The fire grew and grew in his mind, then jetted out from his eyes and mouth, his fury at what was his enveloping all he looked at. The Rogues leaped backwards in shock towards the door as Chief, alone, sprayed fiery death across the entire room, melting the metal blades, causing stone to explode and shatter. When it stopped, the Chief staggered, but all lay dead before him. The Rogues hurriedly moved forward, killing the few still on top of the altar, while Chief got his bearings.

He soon felt better, and moved to Charsi's unconscious form on the top of the altar. The altar was wide, surrounded by the armor and bones of previous victims, armor and weapons everywhere. The Rogues moved to gather such a treasure trove of riches as Chief cradled Charsi in his arms. She was unconscious, but unharmed save for a slight bump on her forehead.

He handed her to Kathara. "Get her to the caravan, she'll be fine." The Rogue nodded, picking up the heavy Barbarian with Franna's help and the two getting Charsi out of there.

Chief finally looked around. He was at the altar, and looked up, seeing the pinprick of sunlight from the small hole in the roof, encompassing where he stood. He looked down, where Hirasi was gathering items and storing them in her backpack, then at the mound of dead and their items themselves. One item in particular caught his interest, a black helm, late-Roman style, with a strange glitter to it. Chief sensed something, but shook it aside as he reached out for the helm.

When he touched it, the helm hissed, then melted into a black substance. The Spartan reared backward in horror and surprise as the liquid reared up, enveloping his hand, inching its way slowly up his arm. The Spartan clawed at the substance, but only succeeded in spreading it onto his other hand. It moved incredsibly fast, and when it reached his helm he shouted from the sudden stinf of its touch. Hirasi noticed the black goo and gasped in shock at what was happening. "Get back!" he snarled as Hirasi quickly came to assist him; she complied, as the Chief doubled over in agony. The fire he had felt in his mind was back, and Chief now recognized it for the threat it was. It was spreading through his limbs, through his mind, going farther into his being than even he had gone before.

"Melkon…" he whispered, then fell to the floor, the black goo seeping into his armor and his soul, then vanishing.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven, Part One

_Elsewhere_

John sat on the shore of the beach. The sun was at noon, and his parents were with his sister collecting shellfish. John himself was playing with the sand, making a sand castle over his arm. John couldn't remember being happier in a long time.

Wait…sand castles? Parents?

John shook his head. This was…different. Something wasn't right, though as a child John had no clue what the wrongness might be. He was fine playing with the sand.

_Spartan…Spartan…_

John shook his head, then looked up. The sun was setting, but very fast, and he didn't see his parents or his sister. "Mom? Dad" he said. He picked up his bucket, shook the sand off of his arm, then walked down. He looked for them everywhere, then he saw something that made his blood run cold.

Something large and red-colored was hovering over his dad and mom, something with a shell on it and sharp teeth. John said his parent's names, and the thing turned, with sharp teeth, stained red. "Hello, John," the thing said, its mouth a leer, then John was falling…

Cortana looked over the desert, then began coasting back to the caravan's position. She hadn't seen anything of consequence, and Lut Gholein glittered over the horizon, a shining port city on the edges of the desert.

Strange, the caravan had stopped. She squinted, and perceived everybody moving quickly towards the prone body of… "Chief!" she shouted, plummeting towards the ground.

She landed, wings twitching and flaring in agitation. "What happened?" she shouted as she ran effortlessly over the dunes.

Wariv looked up, and to Cortana's shock his hands were stained with blood. Warriv noticed Cortana's glance, and chuckled. "Not from the Spartan, Cortana, just from Charsi's head wound."

"Charsi! What happened?"

"Some Sand Snakes kidnapped Charsi, and Chief and the Rogues went after them. There was a temple of some sort, and Chief rescued her, but something happened to him as well afterwards. I don't know the details," he shrugged as Cortana lifted into the air. She swooped towards the party, moving slowly from what was a massive canyon, a gash in the earth. They were dragging Chief on a sled made of lashed ropes and timbers, and even then they were moving slowly.

Cortana landed next to Chief, then reached out to touch his armored shoulder. She screamed out in pain and was flung by some invisible force through a sand dune, sand spraying everywhere. Cortana shook her head and waved the Rogue's hands away. "Ow, Gods. What the hell was that?"

"You too huh?" It was Hirasi who said that, and she raised her hand, with a light burn on the palm. "I tried the same thing. Apparently whatever that black goo was doesn't like social interaction."

"Uh, black goo?" Cortana waved a wing at Chief, wincing when the tip touched the suit and the shields flared. "Ow."

"Yeah. The Spartan touched a black helm radiating with dark magicks, and the helmet melted and sucked itself into his suit."

"Great. What did I tell Chief about magickal items and touching things? But no, he always had to pick up the cool Covenant weapons…" Cortana grumbled, then gestured. "Give me the ropes." The Rogues happily complied, their shoulders aching with relief. Cortana flew up, dragging Chief really fast. They were at the caravan in a few minutes, then she carefully dragged Chief onto an emptied wagon via a ramp Warriv put down. "Thanks. Warriv, inform everybody that the Chief's indisposed, and warn everybody not to touch him. Bad things happen if you do."

"I will do so." Warriv wandered off to inform Gheed and the others, but Cortana stopped him. "Also, we need to get to Lut Gholein as fast as possible and get a room for Chief. Something's wrong with him, and there's nothing between us and Lut Gholein."

"As you wish, Lady of Light." The Rogues loaded their salvaged gear and weapons onboard, and the caravan was off at their top speed, which was only mildly slow.

Cain hobbled over to Chief's wagon at Cortana's request, and he Cortana and the Rogues held a brief council. Cain went over the salvage they had collected from the dark temple, looking especially over the magically-tinged items. He deemed them acceptable and lacking in danger, but his face visibly darkened at Hirasi's description of the Black Helm. "This is not good news. Your description of the helm reminds me of an ancient legend recorded in the holy Monastic Texts of Kerrusel, far to the north. It is said that the holy monks faced a demon of the lower Sect of Tinashi many thousands of years ago, and it was capable of significant transmogrification and weather control capabilities. They succeeded in fixing the demon into one form and making its demonic essence fall asleep, and for ages it resided in the monastery. The facility was destroyed many decades ago, and the helm was believed destroyed. It seems to have been awoken to Chief's touch, or perhaps his suit."

"Fantastic," Cortana sighed, leaning against the wooden wall of the wagon as it creaked along. "So how do we get this demon thing out of Chief?"

"We cannot. The demon's essence is attempting to merge with the Spartan's, as it seeks a new host to twist and warp into its previous form, and the Chief has a powerful form. It is a battle of wills, and whoever wins in the Spartan's mind will be the victor."

_Elsewhere_

John was a child, but he knew he had it within himself to become a Spartan. Mendez, their trainer and a Marine, had sent them on a mission to capture the ground and win the bell. His team had already breached the perimeter, and were seeking a way to get around or take out their sentry guns. They were Spartans, they were good, and they were going to win.

A sudden rustling of the wind drew his attention above his head, but when he looked back he saw his mates…gutted, and a disturbingly familiar read-armored creature hovering over their shredded remains. He hadn't even heard them scream. "Gah," he whispered in sudden shock. He had never seen a corpse before.

The creature turned, and John felt a tingling along his spine, like he had seen those burning red eyes before. "Spartan, come to play," the demon hissed, and slithered towards him on its thick pulsating tail. John, despite his fear, picked up a large pointy rock near him, and charged.

Spartans always won.

Chapter Seven, Part Two

_Elsewhere…_

The Chief moved swiftly through the foliage. Clad in his new MJOLINOR V armor, he felt his ability to take on the Covenant was greatly exaggerated from the previous Mark IV model, what with the suit's new shields and all. The Covenant encampment was just ahead, from what Cortana had told him, and he hefted his MA5B Assault Rifle in preparation for his assault.

He burst out into the encampment, but the site before him sickened even him. The Covenant were there, all right, but impaled on spikes, a field of mutilated bodies. Most of them were obviously dead, but a few of the Grunts and Elites were still groaning for release in their tongues. Chief obliged them, then continued on twice as alert. He rounded a large boulder, and saw the plain, filled with large creatures in some sort of red-armored shell for armor. Their arms ended in massive spiked hands, and their gaping maws were filled with razor-sharp teeth.

Chief grimaced, then remembered. He knew what they were; indeed, they had been rummaging inside his mind, attacking him on all levels of his memories. "Demon, what is your name? You've hunted me across the

"You could not speak it even if you tried, Spartan," the first demon closest to him rasped. "I have existed since time immemorial, feasting on the wind and the blood. The blood is the life, the blood is the soul. Your body is mine to do with as I please."

"Not damn likely." The Chief raised his rifle, firing full auto at the demon. The bullets merely plinked off of its shell, and the demon grinned. "This is my mind. Damn."

"Exactly." The two charged, Chief tackling the creature and smashing its face into the dirt. This would be a battle of willpower, the Chief suddenly realized, and my very soul is at stake.

The true battle began.

Cortana had remained at Chief's side ever since they had entered Lut Gholein's massive arched gates. The portcullis had barely re-closed when Lord Jerhyn had welcomed them into their port city, but he had pulled back when they had explained what was going on. Alma had given them her finest suite in her hotel, and currently Chief was lying out of his armor on the bed, covered only by a thin blanket. They had taken off of the armor only with poking the seals to it in the sequence Cortana had given them, and then they had had to drag him out of the various pieces. The suit itself was in pieces in the corner, but Cortana had been able to touch them after they had left skin contact with the Chief. The problem was with him.

She had maintained vigil over the Chief's unmoving body ever since he had lain his head on the pillow. Charsi had visited, but seemed unwilling to be by the Spartan's side with Cortana in the room. She had muttered a brief prayer for John's health and left, and Cortana had sniffed, her opinion of Charsi lowered yet again. One never abandoned friends, not if they could help it.

She looked up, as a dark-skinned, heavily-robed man knocked on the open door. "Enter," she said, and the vfigure slowly walked in, meeting her quickly. "I've heard that you are responsible for banishing Andariel back to the Burning Hells. I'm impressed, stranger. That couldn't have been easy. My name is Drognan and I know what you're up against, my friend."

"Do you? Have a seat," Cortana waved, and Drognan sat in a wicker chair in the corner. The room was Spartan in décor, but chairs and such had been made available considering the Rogues and other folk stopping by to wish the Chief well. "What do you know of the Chief?"

"The Spartan? The usual, I suppose; he assisted the Radiant Lady of Light, which I presume to be you, in the fight against Andariel, and he has a strength and skills unparalleled. The blacksmith Charsi has been telling many stories to those willing to hear them, as well as showing Fara how to make those strange weapons fueled with fire powder." Drognan made a noncommittal wave, one that indicated he wasn't quite sure of the validity of those tales.

"They're all true, I'm afraid," Cortana grinned, then sobered when she looked at the Chief's prone form. "But, it seems this time he's bit off more than he could chew."

"An apt turn of phrase for sure," Drognan interjected. "I know much of ancient magical items, and cursed ones are especially ferocious in their effects usually. I cannot help but feel pity for him now, lying there. I can't imagine what he is going through."

"Horrible things, from what little Deckard Cain has told me."

"Ah yes, the Horadric Mage. Where did you dig him up from? I thought, as do most of my colleagues, that the Horadrim were extinct."

"Almost. Cain is the last of the Horadrim that he knows of."

"A sign of the Spartan's power, to have allied with the last Horadric Mage."

"Might the Powers of Heaven be sufficient example also?" A blaze of light came from a ball of white light, which widened, blossoming into the Archangel Tyrael.

Drognan fell onto his knees, bowing his head in respect. "Angel!"

"Oh get up," and Cortana just dragged him to his feet. "He doesn't need any more of a bigger head than he's got. So," and Cortana turned to the bemused Archangel, "can you help the Chief?"

"Possibly. I have heard of his plight, and despite the words of my fellow colleagues I have decided to assist regardless of the consequences."

Cortana's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Wait a minute…consequences?"

"This demon is a powerful one, though weakened by rock and metal and time. The only option we have available is that of exorcism, but it is a risky procedure at best. Because the demon's spirit is attempting to merge with the Spartan's own, and might very well have partially succeeded thus far, it will be difficult to totally separate the two. We might not succeed."

"Well, the less demon the better, right?" Drognan nodded his agreement, and Cortana clapped her hands in satisfaction. "Great. Let me go get Cain, at least. Anybody else?"

"Bring in the one known as Charsi."

"Uh, righto." Within a few minutes Cortana materialized through the wall, and Cain and Charsi soon followed. Tyrael explained the plan to them, and though risky they agreed it would help. Tyrael assembled them in a circle around the bed, which was dragged into the center of the first-story room, and they linked hands, Cortana by the Spartan's head and Charsi by his feet. Tyrael hovered above John's chest, speaking holy writ and drawing arcane symbols in the air, Cain assisting by drawing containment circles on the floor around the group.

Power pulsed through time and realms unknown, and deep within John's soul the balance slowly tipped…

_Elsewhere…_

Master Chief 117 charged into the demon, his gauntleted hands striking precision points on the demon's arms and joints. The beast snarled, pushing his own attack. The two became a flurry of motion, virtually imperceptible to human eyes, flying and attacking across both sky and ground. The Spartan was adamant of his survival and convinced of the worthiness of his cause, as was the demon's in his particular way. Thw two lay nearly perfectly matched, one a warrior of unparalleled renown, the other a beast of insatiable power and an uncanny ability to search for weaknesses.

The demon smirked in response to a flurry of blows, then vanished, replaced by acidic fog. Chief felt his shields dropping and his armor registering near toxicity levels within minutes, and calmed himself, picturing a sphere of emptiness reinforced by pure will. The trick seemed to work, and the demon shifted into a thousand grasping vipers striking at all of John's weak points. His shields gave, but John switched from a sphere of emptiness to one of fire, a pure fire with which he was unharmed, and the snakes shriveled and died.

The demon tried trick after trick, but John came up a dozen different alternatives every single time, using his intellect against the demon's rage. However, he could sense the perfectness of the stalemate, and the demon bared its fangs as it too thought thus at the same moment. In between blows the beats rasped, "We are too well matched, Spartan. You're trapped here with me forever, it seems."

John smiled, and felt a reinforcing wave of power, will, and love reinforce every fiber of his being. His armor exploded, and he emerged naked, save for a glow of divine serenity, a golden wave of light which caused the demon to scream. "You are wrong," the Spartan said calmly, and lifted his hand.

The demon Melkon, which had killed tens of thousands centuries past, shattered and died, its soul fragmenting and burning beyond all comprehension. It would kill and maim no more.

In the real world, Tyrael's words flared above the Spartan's body, then dissipated. The link between them all grew, funneling their contributions into John's soul: Cortana's strength and loyalty, Charsi's love and belief in him, Tyrael's wisdom, Cain's conviction, and Drognan's hope. The five prayed and pushed with all of their might inside their mind' eye, and slowly, ever so slowly, the wave pushed its way into the Spartan's awareness.

The group gasped, releasing hands and breaking their efforts, as they felt their contribution take hold, and a foul black miasma emit from John's mouth, which Tyrael held to his fiery blade and extinguished. Chief gasped in his bed, eyes still closed but now clearly amongst the living once again. "The demon is no more," Tyrael said solemnly. "The Spartan is in full command of his faculties."

Cortana smiled, then reared forwards in dismay. "What do you call that then?" The Chief had begun twitching, his eyes rolling up in his head and his hands clenching nothing but air. Something was going clearly wrong.

Tyrael bent over John's head, looking into each glazed eye. The ethereal being sighed. "It is as I suspected," he uttered. "We were not quite successful. The demon's essence was shattered, but miniscule fragments remain inside of the Spartan's soul. Unfortunately, I do not possess the power to remove such small fragments of an essence, a,d indeed it would be unwise to attempt to do so regardless; we have taxed the Spartan's reserves to the breaking point."

"What shall we do, then?" Cain asked, the first time anyone could recall the learned Horadric Mage asking for an answer or advice.

"The Spartan must absorb and reconcile with those fragments on his own. Clearly," and the archangel waved to John's struggling form, "the process has already begun. An unfortunate consequence of this will be the gradual assimilation and absorption on the subconscious level of the demon's will and abilities into the Spartan's. His mind will change, as will his body, to cope with these new changes in his soul Cortana should remain here, and provide that which must be done…in case the changes are too…radical."

Tyrael's intentions were clear. "I understand," Cortana whispered, her wings wrapping around herself protectively.

"Good. Cain, you and Drognan should also keep watch with her. Charsi, you are of a pure heart, and carry the scion of the future of this world, as has been ordained by prophecy of late. Go to your room and rest; the exorcism will leave you more tired than you imagine. Join them later, and pray for the Spartan's salvations."

One takes an Archangel's words of advice seriously. Charsi nodded silently, then with a pleading look in her eyes fled the room.

The trial by combat was finished. Now, only the consequences of their actions awaited them.

Chapter Seven, Part Three

John awoke slowly, but gradually. The first sensation he felt was an incredibly dry mouth. Second, the light was VERY bright, and he squinted until his eyes felt less painful. Third, he was naked, and he slowly sat up repelling the fourth feeling of nausea with concentration.

Cortana was there, not surprising, and so was Drognan, a sleeping Cain in the corner, and Charsi, who got up and hugged him. He hugged her back tentatively, feeling the pulsation of blood through the flesh of her back. "Please, not so quickly," he rasped. "Could…water?" He beckoned to his mouth.

Charsi exclaimed and ran out of the room, while Cortana merely smiled and helped sit Chief up. "How do you feel, Chief?"

"Terrible. The Snakes?"

"All taken care of; you got them all with your first try."

"How long have I been out? Thanks," he said to Charsi as she came back with a pitcher, and drank deeply. His stomach felt better, though oddly in some sense he felt just as thirsty as before.

"Three weeks," Cortana said softly. "We weren't sure if you were going to make it."

"I…can't remember." He remembered only faint sensations, like blurred nightmares, but lacked the details.

"You'll feel better after you eat. Feel up to a short walk?"

"Sure." He slowly staggered up, Cortana on his right and Charsi on his left, and helped him dress. Together they moved out of the room, down a short hallway. Drognan followed them, and Cain continued to sleep. The central room they emerged into wasn't quite full of people, but enough for a mild roobarooba noise in the background. That died out as most of the people in the room looked at the man being held up the lady of light and Charsi, whom many of them had gotten to know though her tales of the Spartan's adventures.

He sat, and a middle-aged woman with quite an attractive face lined with stress marks served him. "You'll forgive me if I seem upset. I've suffered a loss recently, but that's not your problem. It's a relief to see some proper warriors come through here. My name is Atma. I run the tavern here in Lut Gholein."

"Spartan-117, ma'am. I'm sorry for your loss." Chief greedily attacked the food in front of him, some sort of soup with plentiful bread and vegetable side dishes. In between bites, he said, "I also apologize for the speed in which I'm eating, haven't eaten anything in a while."

"That's fine, I take it as a complement."

The Chief's reply was interrupoted when a mountain of a man sat down noisily next to him. "Hey, you're that Spartan they keep talkin' about, aren't ya? Ferocious as the wild beasts of the north, that's what they say. I suppose you've come to help save this city. You needn't bother." The man swagged the remained of his beer down. "Greiz seems to have this place locked down nice and tight. Not that I couldn't have done the same! I've proven my valor in combat plenty of times."

"Geglash, treat our guest a little bit more gently, he's been sick for a while now," Atma insisted firmly.

"Fine, fine, I'm just going to get a refill. Have fun killing the wee beasties, Spartan!"

"Thanks," John muttered as Geglash staggered away. Annoying, but informative. He turned to Atma. "He mentioned trouble. What's been going on here?"

"In the sewers below our city, there lurks a horrid creature that hungers for human flesh. The creature has killed many, including my son and my husband. If you destroy it, I will reward you, if you wish." Atma was looking into the Spartan's face with an eerie intensity, a burning blaze of hope in her eyes.

"I'll do what I can. Cortana, Charsi, back to the room. Thanks for the food, Atma."

The three got up, John slightly easier than before, but Atma grabbed his arm. He stared into her eyes. "I don't expect this of you, but if you want to help me, I would be grateful. Please be careful though, that beast has taken enough from us already. The sewer entrance is through the trap door just up the street."

"I'll keep that in mind." John suppressed a strange urge to snap his teeth at her, and then they were moving away from the crowd, and he was soon back in the comfort of his covers. He sighed as he leaned back; he felt like body had been beaten up by a dozen Helljumpers, without him fighting back. "Why am I in such pain?"

Charsi spoke for the first time since he'd awoken. "You…had a demon attacking your soul. You were what the lady of light calls a coma, and we had the Archangel Tyrael assist in an exorcism."

Chief looked at Cortana's face, which confirmed his fears. That explained the nightmares. "Well, that explains the nightmares I had," and he grinned.

Charsi paled, and Cortana stared at Chief. She motioned for him to open his mouth, then peered intently. John didn't feel any different than what he usually felt like, except for a strange thirst, but Cortana held her hand to her mouth, then poked Cain and Drognan awake with her wing-tips. The old men awoke suddenly, and they came over at Cortana's silent beckoning. They looked too, and Drognan made a symbol over his heart while Cain merely staggered backwards.

Chief was getting annoyed. What the hell was in his mouth that scared them so much? "Well, what is it?" he snapped, suddenly sensing their blood again.

Charsi whispered it first. "You have fangs, Spartans, big ones." Chief felt them over with his tongue, and Cain spoke too. "I've never seen this, but they resemble certain of the smaller demons and the fangs in their jaws."

"Considering how much food he just wolfed down, I guess he doesn't have a problem with food consumption," Cortana quipped.

Drognan frowned, until now silent. "I wish to test a theory. Spartan, are you still thirsty?"

John frowned. All of them had backed away from him against the wall. "Yes, actually. I don't know why, I drank a whole pitcher's worth of water." He shrugged.

Drognan produced a vial of red fluid from his inner robes, then broke the stopper and handed the potion to the Chief. "Drink this. If it satisfies your thirst, it answers my questions." Chief gulped the red fluid down, which was salty but on the whole quite tasty. He told them it hit the spot, and Drognan sighed. "Damn it, I'm right."

Cortana paled, if it was possible for an energy being to pale. "Is that stuff what I think it was?"

Drognan nodded, his head suddenly heavy. "It was." He looked up, staring into John's suddenly scared eyes. "That was a small vial of angel's blood, Spartan. It would seem that you are now a vampyr."

Chapter Seven, Part Four

"Explain."

That word was the only that managed to grind out from Chief's frozen lips. Everyone had backed as far away from him as possible, and now Drognan was making more symbols in mid-air, Charsi was getting whiter by the minute, and Cain was just sitting there muttering to himself.

Cortana was the only one the least affected by the news, and she told Chief of Tyrael's observations and what he had predicted. John recognized that it explained the physical soreness, if his body was changing to perform like this, but overall this was…ridiculous. "I am not a vampire!" He didn't know much about the myths from Earth, but he knew enough of the basics, having read Dracula one year in the Spartan-II program. "I can stand sunlight, and I can eat normal food!"

Drognan leaned forward, his face calmer than before. "It would seem that the transformation wasn't entirely successful, Spartan, so you not quite the same idea as one which we know of. In Lut Gholein vampires exist. They are the undead, stricken souls who find no rest, or minor demons, who possess their bodies or the bodies of other corpses and feast on the living to sustain their unusual energy needs. You, however, are very much alive, so your case, I imagine, is rather unique."

"Define unique," Chief snarled.

"We have no clue of what you're capable of, in short. You seem to stand sunlight, unlike most vampires here, plus indeed you can eat food with no side-effects aside from the normal ones any human body has. Aside from that, we don't know what you can do."

"We need to find out, then." Cortana stood by Chief's side, and held out her hand. Chief stood up immediately, feeling much stronger in a matter of minutes from eating. That blood must have been potent, if he remembered his lore correctly, though he wasn't sure if its holy nature should hurt him. "Chief, put on your armor."

Chief slowly clambered into the legs, then the chest piece, then the helmet. With the click of the last seals, the suit thrummed with power, and Chief prepared to run through the standard diagnostics, but then the standard procedure failed. The suit shut down, then flared with power, and he found himself tearing off the helmet and almost ripping the suit off of him.

The others hadn't noticed anything unusual, aside from a flare of white light. Chief fell on the floor as the pieces of his suit fell away from him, and Cortana helped him up again. "What the hell happened, Chief?"

"I don't know!" he shouted. "It just…exploded with energy on the inside, like it was trying to fry me. I got out of there just in time."

"It rejected him," Drognan sat stunned.

"It's a suit of armor," Cortana snapped while helping the Chief sit up on the bed. "It's not a sentient being. It can't REJECT a person!"

Cain spoke up. "Maybe, in this case, it can. The Spartan's body has changed, and you told me once the armor could tell the medical condition of the one inside of it. Maybe, somehow, it senses the changes within you, and no qualifies you as suitable."

Chief began to feel a very faint twinge of panic, the first he had ever felt in his life. The suit was his home, in a sense. "This suit," he rasped out, "is incredibly vital to our success. Without it I'm a very capable warrior; with it I'm invincible, especially with the magic that was placed in it."

"Perhaps that's also the problem, Spartan. That suit was designed to fight off the forces of evil, and in a spiritual or magical sense you could very well be classified as one of them, now, though we know you aren't."

"Fantastic." John cradled his head in his hands, feeling a sudden urge to weep. His suit couldn't be used, and without it they were finished.

Cortana looked down at his bowed head, then leaned forward and kissed his hair. She stood up, while John looked at her in a dazed sense. "I know how to solve this problem," she declared.

"How?" Drognan asked. "Without the Spartan in the suit, it can't be used."

"Wrong." Cortana smirked. "Assemble the suit." With John's assistance they got the entire suit hooked up without a person inside. It stood like a massive statue of metal, immobile and solid. Cortana inhaled, then stepped forward, her light flickering inside. The suit flared with energy, then activated, and clumsily moved. Faint wings of light appeared from the suit's back. The suit waved to them, with Cortana's voice coming from the loudspeakers. "I'm a lady of light, doofuses! When I was created this suit was designed to house my essence! I can take physical form, so I can wield the suit like a Spartan, plus it doesn't hinder my wings, plus nobody will realize the Spartan isn't in here, since nobody here aside from us has seen you in armor yet, John!"

John stood up in amazement. He tentatively patted the armor on the head, then on the solid breastplate with a clang, then shook one of the hands. The suit under Cortana's control moved as flawlessly and effortlessly as he had, if not more so. He stepped back, slight tears in his eyes. "I guess…this is acceptable. Welcome to the team, Cortana." Cortana saluted in perfect UNSC form, and John sniffed in a sudden upwelling of emotion.

Cain spoke. "While Cortana is in the suit I fear she will not be able to turn invisible at will, but she could leave the suit at any time, I imagine?"

"Oh hell yeah!" Cortana stepped out of the suit, which immediately froze in place, hand outstretched like a statue. "See, I'm fine," then winked out of sight to demonstrate, then back again.

John smiled, then frowned again. "If I'm to fight without the suit, I'll still need the Hayabusa Blade, and one of the new flintlock rifles for ranged attacks. I'll need plate armor too." He turned to Charsi. "Charsi, do you think you could work with Fara on amking an enchanted suit with the Anvil and the Horadric Malus here?" He phrased it as gently as possible.

Charsi was still white and blatantly staring at him, but she shook out of it. "Um, probably," she whispered. "Fara has much better armor here than I have at the Monastery, anyhow. I should be capable of acquiring a suit of full plate mail and improving on it from here."

"Better yet," and Chief had an idea. He turned to Cortana. "Cortana, do you think you'd like to introduce 26th-Century metallurgy to them, with a few prep courses in between to catch up of course?"

"More tech-boosting? I'm in." Cortana was beaming; information acquisition was one of her specialties, and right before going on their last mission on the Ark she had downloaded "relevant" files, ones which became really important after their sliced-in-half trick with the portal.

Chief turned to Charsi. "Cortana'll help teach you two how to make full plate mail armor that is lighter than you chain mail but ten times more protective, and should be even capable of blocking the rounds from flintlock rifles."

Charsi's eyes flickered with this new concept, though it didn't totally override her fear. "Great!" She smiled.

John sensed what she wanted. "Um, could I speak to Charsi privately, for a minute?" They agreed and left, and when the door closed the Chief was alone with her. He sat carefully on the bed, letting her make the first move.

Eventually she did, and came forward and they embraced. She was crying hysterically, and Chief patted her back and muttered the sweet nothings which somehow every male eventually picks up on their usage, and eventually Charsi's sobs slowed and halted. Chari looked at him, then smiled. "Well, you don't look that different," she murmured, "aside from being slightly less pale."

"Must be the blood," he smiled. "How are you feeling about this?"

Charsi shook with laughter, then sat heavily next to him. "Not well," she sighed. "This certainly isn't what I wanted at all."

"Never is."

"Yeah." She brushed the hair out of her face. "Before, I could trust you with my life without question, and our child's. Now…" She shook her head. "Not really. I've ben thinking ever since Dorgnan pulled that stun with the blood; would it really be safe, REALLY safe, to have a vampire around the house?"

"I see you point." John lowered his head, staring at the floor for a bit. "What do you want to do?"

"I'm going to learn as much as I can from you and Cortana, then go back to the Monastery once I'm near term," Charsi sighed. "I'm fine being with you, even the new you, but I can't take any chances with our child."

"I understand." Actually, Chief had been thinking about making her do roughly something like this, even if she HADN'T decided on her own to do this. He wasn't stupid either.

"Good. I'd better get going, get our supplies ready with Fara." Charsi stood up, John with her, and they stared deeply into each other for a while, then they kissed, slowly and deeply. Charsi sighed when they parted. "Definitely not bad, Spartan. I'd…better go."

John stood there as Charsi walked out the door, and sat down. He knew Cortana was coming in before she poked her head in. "Come. Close the door." Cortana did so, gently.

"How you feeling?"

John laughed. "As well as expected, of course. You finally have my suit, it semes."

"I was joking on the Autmn."

They laughed, then sat silently, perfectly content in each other's company, listening to the bustle of Lut Gholein. It was hard to believe from the noise that a miasma of evil had descended on the desert, but there it was.

John sighed, turning to her. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"The kiss earlier. Helped me get my bearings."

Cortana's wings fluttered. "Sure."

"I need a favor of you."

"Anything."

"Charsi…is pregnant, with my child. I just found out," he explained as Cortana's mouth fell open. "I need you to teach her everything you can, as fast as you can. She's going back to the Monastery within roughly a month of the baby's term, so we don't have much time."

Cortana's mouth shut, and she nodded. She knew how John was feeling right now. "Anything else,?"

"Yeah…keep an extra eye on her for me, please?"

"Of course." Cortana stood up, John with her, and they stared deeply into each other for a while, then they kissed, slowly and deeply. Cortana sighed when they parted. "Definitely not bad, Spartan. I'd…better go."

John stood there as Cortana walked out the door, and lied down on the bed, soon falling asleep . He needed to rest, and to ponder what had just happened, all of it.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight, Part One

The nightmare was always the same. For night after night after the revelation of his change, John would always see the same kaleidoscope of images: fog, death, ships sailing across seas which turned into sand, the howling of wolves and the buzzing of the most vile creatures in the world. Interspersed with them were memories, it seemed: memories of slaughter, of red-tinged laughter. They were from the demon, it seemed, and also showed John some of the true nature of this world.

But that was for later. It was fifth night after, and the Spartan found himself getting up earlier and earlier in the night, feeling restless and sometimes quite hungry. He knew where the feeling came from and what it was, as he seemed to still be capable of enjoying food and drink, but it did nothing for the thirst. The butcher had taken to leaving barrels of pig's blood and other animal's blood in the tavern free of charge for the group's heroic services, and Chief staggered down to the closed bar in the dark to get a glass of the sloshing red liquid.

He gulped it down, gripping his chest as he felt his stomach rumble in pleasure, though it didn't satisfy as completely as the angel's blood had from Drognan. It seemed his body was still changing, but Drognan had no clue what it was doing at all. At least, unlike angel's blood, animal blood was always plentiful, and lacked the immoral attributes of drinking human blood.

Charsi had taken to sleeping with Fara in her quarters, and Chief though slightly regretting her fear understood it and wished her luck. She still came around frequently to talk and speak with him about the skills he was teaching her, and the two of them, with Cortana, often spoke and worked long into the day occasionally, but it wasn't the same. It was the division of souls, but the safety and preservation of this world took precedence over any personal concerns, as it always had, even when he was a soldier of the UNSC.

Cortana stayed, though, and the Chief was grateful for her presence. She had already showed them ways of molding and hammering the metal that would increase their durability over three-fold, and she wasn't going to be done any time soon, as she stated so proudly almost every other day. She had taken up his suit and gone out hunting during the night hours, being as she was a Lady of Light and didn't need to sleep.

Chief walked outside the inn, looking at the jewel that was Lut Gholein. It truly was a magnificent port city, bearing architecture that would have rendered the Byzantines and the Ottomans alike very jealous. John had gone to see the palace of Lord Jerhyn during the day once, and its beautiful alabaster walls with their intricate mosaics and gold trimming had overwhelmed his senses.

It had been during one of those visits to see the building that the Lord himself had come out to see him. "Greetings, honored Spartan. I am Jerhyn, Lord of Lut Gholein, and I bid you welcome to my fair port-city." He had invited John to walk amongst his gardens in the palace, and he had agreed, the two of them walking slowly amongst the verdant and lush vegetation. "I'm glad to know that once again caravans are free to travel through the Western Pass. Our supplies had been running low on almost all quarters, but you have saved us the necessity of eating our cats at least."

John smiled. "Keeping trade going is a priority, Lord, and is very difficult to do amongst the evil spreading from the West. Have you heard news of anything…unusual…passing this way?"

"Well, for some time now, we have been under siege by an evil power that I cannot identify. Strange... It all began when a Dark Wanderer came this way, looking for the Tomb of Tal Rasha. No one knows exactly where Tal Rasha, Keeper of Baal, is entombed, but it is certain to be far out in the desert. Now, my people whisper tales of the dead rising from their tombs and horrible creatures lurking amongst the moonlit dunes. Even I have witnessed things which I cannot explain." He picked an orange from his grove, offering one to John, who accepted. While the two ate slowly on a nearby ornate bench, John with his enhanced senses could detect the guards all around them, providing a cover for their Lord. They were well-trained. Jerhyn finished his orange, stood up, and while they walked continued. "Because of this strange darkness, I've ordered the port closed and all trade ships moored until I am sure that my city is safe. We have relatively safe passage from the West now for trade caravans and merchants, so food and supplies should be consistent now in their arrival, but the sea opens too many risks, for both crew and what might try to slip away on them."

Slowly, they returned to the palace doors, and Jerhyn blessed John in the ancient Horadric manner while they stood at the threshold. "Now, I must return to the palace. I apologize, but I can't invite you in. Things are... rather a mess right now." John had had no clue of what Jerhyn had meant, but then again it was none of his business. He had returned to his quarters, drank a pint of blood and continued his work.

Until Charsi had completed a new set of armor with Cortana and Fara assisting, Chief felt it would be best to focus on the more scholarly aspects of this world. Sanctuary needed high technology desperately, and from the looks of things they were already on the verge of a breakthrough. Fara's tales of automatic crossbows from further East, the massive semaphore towers, and the other studies John had undertaken of this world had shown him several things.

Lut Gholein, first off, was the best location from which to issue forth this technology, and the Rogue Monastery would be a close second, two nexi of services and goods with the machines he felt was necessary to introduce. Second, there were extensive copper deposits catalogued in the ancient maps, which had remained untapped as nobody could go and survive both the desert and the creature residing close by. John could solve that, and they would need those deposits for the cannons he planned to make, wheeled howitzers pulled by horses, and massive swivel-capable cannons that could be mounted with little modifications on the walls of Lut Gholein. Cortana had said she had figured out how to make a form of primitive steam-driven gatling gun, so she was going to show Fara and Charsi how to make those components and how to assemble them. Along with the cannons, the gatling guns would, in theory, render the city much more defensible from any attacking force, either demonic or human.

John retreated to his room, where he been writing down what he knew about primitive technologies and such from his teachings in the UNSC. Though most of what he had learned was of a military bearing, he had learned much about architecture and design, so John had been writing all of the standards he could think of, and constructing buildings with those standards. Though not soldiering, his mind found it a refreshing and certainly different line of work. Already, with Jerhyn's permission and the assistance of some of the mercenary Griez's men, they had begun construction of building for cloth factory with massive looms and such, to make clothing cheaply and in large quantities. Plans for a windmill and other facilities were also in place.

Plus a major revamping and redesign of the entire underground sewer network, John sniffed, at least after Cortana and himself took care of the creature underneath the city that Atma had described.

John sniffed, his recollections in the moonlight of his plans disturbed by something. He got up, slinging his Hayabusa blade over his back, and stealthily dressed in a black outfit of his own design, form-fitting but with flexible movement. He hid in the shadows and waited, leaving a wadded blanket under his sheets to mimic him.

From the window crept a black-suited figure, like his design but different. This one had armor plating and such woven into it, but must have been enchanted for stealth as he could not hear any rattling of the metal plates. The person had its face wrapped in thick cloth, only their eyes showing. The figure crept in through the open window, and the Spartan held his breath while the figure almost oozed in speed through the narrow opening. Finally it was through, and moved swiftly towards the bed, taking their sword and slashing the bed virtually in half with one swift movement.

Enough of this. The Spartan lunged forward, knocking the blade from the person's hand with a swift chop to their wrist, and a second blow knocked them onto the floor. They rolled and leapt, in one swift movement back on their feet, and from their gauntleted hands sprung three razor-sharp blades, like massive claws, extending from the top of the figure's hands.

John rolled as the assassin lunged, for clearly it was an assassin, the blades missing his head and eyes by mere inches. Whoever this person was, they moved fast. John pulled his Hayabusa blade, and the figure paused. The two crouched, in a standoff for the moment. The figure kept glancing at the sword, like they were re-thinking their options with such a massive and clearly deadly weapon.

The assassin paused, then lowered his clawed gauntlets, the claws retracting. The figure pulled off his mask, a thick sheet of black cloth. It was a male, tall and very built in terms of musculature, almost the Chief's height. His eyes were brown, his hair brown and short-cropped, and his nose was slightly crooked from a previous fight, but a handsome face overall. Chief hesitated, then lowered his sword in response. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"I assume you are the Spartan," the assassin said calmly.

"Not confirming or denying. What I want is your name, who sent you, and why you feel that the Spartan needs to die."

"I am Alak'hzar, of the Viz-Jaq'taar, the Order of the Mage Slayers. I was assigned by my sovereign commander to take out the Spartan, as he was suspected of possible corrupt magicks and their usage."

"Alright. Come with me; I will allow you to keep your weapons as an assumption of your honor as a warrior, but if there is any hint of betrayal I will cut you down where you stand. The Spartan is currently not here, but I know you do not believe me on that. Come with me and I'll simply prove you wrong."

"Acceptable." The Assassin picked up his sword, sheathed it, put it on his back, then accompanied the Chief outside the tavern through the door, like most normal people. "Are you a rogue member of our Order? You dress like we do, and move much like us."

"I am…not from around here," Chief admitted. "In my lands there is an order very similar to your mage-slayers, though they operated more as mercenaries hirable for a price to any bidder. Here we are." The two were at Fara's smithy, where he could tell the fire was still simmering. A proper smith never let the fire get entirely cold. "Here. I will show you what we are doing here."

John quickly assembled the components for gunpowder, then asked the assian to identify them. He did, with a slightly confused expression on his face. "But sir, these powders are all simple and commonplace. How can one accomplish with these what we have heard they can do?"

"Simple like this." Chief dissected a flask of finished gunpowder, showing the black sooty powder to the assassin. "This is the finished product. The powders are mixed in various proportions until this combination is reached. The combination will remain a secret, told only to those who I trust. This is what happens." Chief escorted the assassin with a couple of grenades and a loaded rifle to the gates of the city, where a startled sentry let them pass after a slight explanation. Chief lit the grenade, priming the activation spell. He threw it, explaining the spell part to the assassin.

The explosion drowned out his words, and Alak'hzar's face paled. "What devilry is this?"

"No devilry. The powder is very reactive, and flammable as well." He trickled a grenade's content on the ground lighting them with the same spell. The fire sputtered and burned along the ground, and trail of fire.

"Interesting. We have several traps we use with much the same concept. An explosion would be much more deadly, like explosive potions, yes?" Chief nodded. "Then what about these 'rifles' I've heard so much of? Their capabilities could not be without magic."

"Actually," Chief smiled, "they have no magic in them at all." He showed Alak'hzar a bullet, then placed the powder inside the barrel, then the bullet. "The powder creates an explosion, generating hot gases which push out of this one end at tremendous speeds. The bullet cannot help but be pushed to enormous speeds along with the gases. Watch." He fired, a massive boom echoing through the rocky walls, and the round hit a desert cactus and tore the top of it clean off, water trickling out. Chief walked up, unraveled his head covering, then drank the cactus liquid. He picked up the smoking bullet and handed it to the dumbstruck Assassin, who gaped at the slightly hot pointed cone in his hand. "That is the round I fire. Slightly hot from the gases and friction with the air, but the same. You see the damage."

The Assassin nodded, then paled again. Chief turned in his direction of interest, where he saw Cortana in his suit flying overhead, her wings of light poking out rippling in the darkness. It was a magnificent sight, and Chief waved in her direction.

"What the hell was that Chief?" Cortana shouted as she landed. The wings folded back into the suit, and she simply appeared as an incredibly intimidating warrior of the Light. "Explosions at 3AM aren't exactly your style. And who is this charming fellow?" she remarked snidely to the gaping Assassin next to Chief.

John smirked. "This, Spartan, is Alak'hzar – did I pronounce that correctly? – an Assassin from the Order of Mage Slayers. He came out here to kill you, but I convinced him otherwise."

"Oh, I've heard of you guys. Why did he want me dead?" Cortana faked a cold voice, as if restraining a great fury. "I have enough problems with demons and the undead legions without having to worry about the supposed good guys. Aren't you supposed to be fighting the forces of evil?"

"Um, well…" Chief could tell the Mage Slayer was sweating bullets, but let him stew. He got his act together a bit, enough for coherent speech at least. "We…had been informed of your activities in Lut Gholein and in the Monastery, Spartan, and had thought you were under the malign influence of dark magicks."

"Dark magic? Boy, you guys really need to learn your negotiating skills." Cortana shook her head in the suit in an exaggerated manner. "Alright. Do you have a problem with our operations any more? I'm simply making with the Chief's help here non-magical weapons to combat demons."

"So I see." Alak'hzar nodded, much less pale than before. "I shall go."

"Wait." The Chief walked over to the Spartan, whispering where the suit supposedly has ears. The suit nodded, then turned its visor towards Alak'hzar. "I have a few requests to make of you and your Order, before you go."

"Are you sure that is wise, asking the Viz-jaq'taar of favors? We do not take kindly to such." Alak'hzar stood proud of his heritage.

Cortana sighed. Very well, if the arrogant prick insisted. A sword of blazing fire erupted in one hand, and a flail of many thongs in the other. She walked up to a boulder, and sliced it in half, the halves falling smooth as glass. Second, she swung the burning flail at a rock outcropping, and the entire rock face melted, molten fluid dripping down hissing as it hit the fine dew.

She turned back to Alak'hzar. "What do you say now?"

"I withdraw my objections." Alak'hzar looked like he having a heart problem.

"Good. Now, in return for not slaughtering you and then tracking and killing your entire Order and wiping them off the face of Sanctuary, I want some items that I believe you can supply quite satisfactorily."

"What items?" Alak'hzar gulped.

"One, a complete set, fully-enchanted, of the Assassin armor that you are wearing for the Chief, something your size will do as you two roughly match. Second, an exact set of your weapons set, including throwing stars and your retractable claws. Third, a set of armored combat boots, the highest rating you can find, with the enchantment that grants one movement at incredibly fast speeds. I've seen those items before, and I know you can find them. They are not that rare."

"Is that it?"

"Yes. Also, I want you to bring those items to us, in whatever fashion you acceptable. No armed escort though, as we can kill you with our rifles and grenades from hundreds of meters away."

"Yes. I shall go." Alak'hzar whistled sharply, and a black stallion came trotting out from behind the bushes, with shrubs strapped to it for disguise.

"Nice horse," Cortana commented.

"Thanks." Alak'hzar trotted off, into the coming dawn.

Chief looked at Cortana, who finally left the suit. "So, what do you think?"

She shrugged, her wings rippling in the beginnings of the dawn's light. "He looked cute enough. Was he competent?"

"Enough. He snuck in the window."

"That small little thing?"

"Yeah, without a sound. Possibly a spell, but I think it was mostly him."

"Hmm, cute AND skilled. We just might have to keep him." Cortana grinned at Chief.

"Hmm. He doesn't have anything I don't got." Chief pretended to pout.

"Sore loser."

Chapter Eight, Part Two

In the morning Chief and Cortana had discussed what had happened with was becoming a regular war council: Drognan, Fara, Chief, Cortana, Charsi, Cain, and Griez, who had been recently invited to join in the discussions. Every day early they met and discussed what needed to be done, and while Cain had planned for a relatively simple hero quest, Chief and Cortana knew they would probably need so much more.

Cortana spoke first. "The Assassin was from the Viz-jaq'taar, alright? While I studied this world under Tyrael's tutelage, I'd read about them. They hunt down corrupt mages who have possibly fallen to dark influences, especially those who study demonic magicks. Besides, they had a good and detailed sketch of their appearance and how they operate, and this guy fit the bill."

Fara sniffed the air disdainfully. "An Assassin. Paladins of the Light have always spurned their kind. They employ the most dark and stealthy of tricks to achieve an unfair kill, while Paladins engage their foe with a sturdy shield, thick armor, and a firm sword hand."

"Any trick is worthy if it can garner victory," Chief admitted. Fara sniffed again, but he continued. "When I fought the Covenant, I employed every trick in the book, plus several my team made up, to win, at any cost. The situation here is much the same: while the enemy is weaker per capita than a Covenant soldier, they have numbers and unquantifiable magicks on their side. I feel getting these Assassins on our side is a good thing."

Cortana turned to the Chief, who was sitting on the bed. "I'm curious, Chief. Why'd you ask me to ask him to give you a set of Assassin armor? I thought you wanted to use a set of the enchanted plate armor for battle."

"Change of plans. I saw how effective his armor can be, and without my MJOLINOR suit I should emphasize stealth over raw combat endurance. Though by myself I am very powerful, without the suit I am only half that which I could be. Speaking of which…?" He motioned to Charsi.

She blushed, then turned to the group as a whole. "Cortana has been showing me and Fara how to make a very suit of armor. It resembles conventional plate armor except it is much lighter yet harder at once, possibly from the exotic contaminants in the smelting process that Cortana introduced. We've been working on it, plus Cortana yesterday came up with a system of small mechanical devices which should allow the suit to support itself and reduce the weight felt by the wearer, as with your first suit," and she beckoned to the Spartan. "Cortana described it as the suit's "great great grandfather."

Chief looked at Cortana, who shrugged. "It's true. While it lacks the strength and speed enhancements, the gears inside do make it noticeably lighter, which is good for pretty much anybody wearing it. It also allows us to make the metal much thicker, up to a quarter-inch thick in the main chest, back and leg areas. Combine that with lighter yet stronger metal in the first place, and this should stop flintlock rounds cold, not to mention anything else used."

"Very very good." Chief smiled; this was far better than he had expected, plus all of that was before the Malus/Fury upgrades. "With the Malus and the Anvil of Fury, that suit should become very potent. I imagine, Cortana, that you've been working on ways to make the suit as simple to make as possible, too, like we discussed?"

"Yeah. It'll take a few suits made, but I think we can refine the design enough to make it easier to make, plus Fara and Charsi have already been teaching their own small teams of assistant smiths. Why?"

"Lut Gholein needs to be defended, and I think we can seriously contribute to that," Chief waved at the map on the bed in front of him, displaying Lut Gholein and the surrounding area. Cortana, avoiding the sewers until Chief had an idea of to do about them, had been going outside the city on aerial reconnaissance, and killing swaths of demons as well. When she came back every night, she drew in exquisite detail all of her observations on an enormous sheet of vellum, which was over a meter wide on every side, providing for enormous detail. "Going by this, Griez's forces are outnumbered, and are currently spread over entirely too much area. If may made suits of armor like this, say, for your entire group of men, Griez, would you think that'd help?"

The old wrinkled veteran smiled. "Well, considering most of us're equipped with hand-me-down armored skirts, leather pads and such, I think it would. Certainly reduce the number of us getting killed, and the demons are rising in numbers. We've checked."

"Good." Chief looked up at all of them. "Next up, Drognan. What's up in the underground about the Dark Wanderer?"

Drognan drew up his reading spectacles and pulled a thick sheaf of ragged scrolls from his bag, cradled on his knees. "I've been researching the old records, trying to find the location of Tal Rasha's Tomb. Though I haven't found the Tomb itself, I may have a good lead for you. The great Vizjerei Summoner, Horazon, built his Arcane Sanctuary somewhere around here. He was a powerful spellcaster and kept demons as slaves within the Sanctuary. He kept a close eye on great events, too -- such as the imprisonment of Baal within Tal Rasha's Tomb. If you could find Horazon's Sanctuary, I'm sure that it would hold some clue as to the Tomb's location. Though I doubt Horazon is still alive, you must proceed with caution. There's no telling what could be waiting inside. When I spoke of this with Lord Jerhyn, he asked that I send you to him. Perhaps he knows of a secret entrance or the like."

"Hmm," Cain muttered.

"Cain?"

"Well, I recall from my distant studies that the Horadric Mages, after binding Baal within Tal Rasha, magically sealed off his Burial Chamber from the mortal realm. Those same Mages also crafted fearsome Horadric Staves and imbued them with the special power to open the Chamber's hidden door. After nearly losing one to the thievery of a rogue sorcerer, they divided all the Horadric Staves into two parts - wooden shaft and metal headpiece - hiding them separately to safeguard them. The Horadrim foresaw our current plight and designed the hiding places to reveal themselves to worthy heroes like you. If you collect both parts of a Horadric Staff and unite them using a Horadric Cube, you may enter Tal Rasha's Burial Chamber…I think." Cain shrugged. "Without a Horadric scroll describing this turn of events, I can't be certain of the details."

Suddenly, a boy knocked on the door. "Spartan! Spartan!" he cried. Cortana flicked the door open with a wing-tip, and the boy rushed in, a small dirty boy with dark skin and a panicked look. He didn't know which one of them was the Spartan, so he spoke to the group, not seeing Cortana flicker into invisibility. "There's a man outside, in dark armor and cloth, bearing gifts for you."

The armor standing in the corner flashed with a white light, and the head turned towards the boy. "I'll be right there." She motioned to Chief, as the boy ran to tell the stranger that they had acknowledged his entreaties. "Let's go; your presents are here."

"Good." Chief quickly got up, and the group moved out of the door, the "Spartan" first. Chief was becoming known as "the Chief" to everybody else, a companion to the Spartan, so he went behind him. The rest followed as they did.

Alak'hzar stood in front of Atma's tavern and hotel, a small crowd watching. The Spartan stepped out in all her glory, her wings fully extended rippling on the breeze. The crowd stood in awe, as did Alak'hzar. He remembered the last time he had interacted with this being, and he did not wish to offend it. He kneeled in the traditional fashion, and offered his two bundles of objects, retrieved from his pack mule a few feet away. "I offer these gifts with the blessing of the Viz-jaq'taar, the Order of the Mage Slayers, and they have furthermore with my advice blessed the Council of the Spartan in its endeavors to purge the world of the evil that resides in its heart." Alak'hzar stood, then bowed to the Chief, who stood in a simple sleeveless shirt and a light tunic. "These are yours, sir, and are the most powerful and sturdy armor that I could find, taken from one of our greatest warriors and repaired to pristine condition. May the blessings of the Adrim be upon you."

"I accept these blessings, and confer them in turn upon you and your Order," Chief solemnly intoned, his face reflecting his gratefulness and solemn promise as he had been instructed to do. This was an ancient Mage ritual, beck before the division of the Mage Clans in their solid oath to bind the Three Brothers, and Cortana and Drognan had informed him of its use with the Order of the Mage Slayers. He stepped forward, bent slowly as Alak'hzar had done, and took the two bundles. He took the larger one, unwrapping it, and took the layers of armor and with Alak'hzar's aid put it on. The armor was exquisitely light but strong, interweaving with the thick layers of silk cloth in such a way as to leave no surface unprotected. Strips of steel wrapped around and through his armor, and the ensemble finished with a dazzling black helm, smooth and glistening like raw obsidian.

Hesitantly, for he remembered the last time he had touched something shiny, he took the black helm and put it on his head. When on his head it moved, and Chief forced himself to not move as the helm configured itself to his skull for maximal protection. Somehow, on an intuitive level he knew that that was what the helm was doing, and he knew somehow that it would be a grave discourtesy to flinch or refuse the offer. Accept the total package, or refuse it. The armored gauntlets came on next, and Cortana in the suit wordlessly handed him the retractable claws, and he attached them to the upper side of the gauntlets. Cortana handed him his Hayabusa Blade in the sheath, and when he put it on Chief felt whole. "I accept the gift in the spirit in which it was intended," he said, finishing the ritual.

Alak'hzar bowed only when the Spartan in her armor nodded as well, finishing the Rite of Acceptance. He felt enormously relieved that such powerful beings had not taken offense to the speed in which he had acquired these items, but his Order had agreed with him as to the necessity of fast preparations.

The group walked to Fara's forge, where Chief disassembled his armor, again with Alak'hzar's help, and preparations began to treat them with the Horadric Malus and the Anvil of Fury. Alak'hzar started when told of the two immensely powerful magical artifacts, but was relieved when Cain showed him various historical records on the two artifacts, relieved that again dark powers weren't involved. He watched intently as Fara completed the ritual for the first time, getting flung backwards with an enormous flash of light like Charsi had done.

Chief took the armor, which was glowing black if that was possible, then put it on himself without any interruptions. He turned to the Spartan. "Spartan, I think we're ready to face off against the sewers now."

Charsi moved suddenly. "Chief!" she cried, as she had been warned to call the Chief only by that title now, and not the Spartan. She grabbed Cortana's invention and handed it to him, a thick piece of wood and metal. "Cortana's design, sir. Use it against evil." With it she handed the Chief two "clips" as Cortana had referred to them.

Chief loaded the weapon, then looked at the Spartan, who shrugged. "Cortana described it as a breech-loading, clip-fed bolt-action rifle with iron sights and a recoilless system built into it. It uses 7.62mm rounds, 20 rounds to a clip, and fires single-shot rounds, requiring yanking the bolt and reloading the chamber. She'd said you'd like it, and flintlock rifles are already useless, if she finishes it."

Chief smiled at Cortana's deception, then cocked the rifle, looking down the barrel of the rifle. Even with the metal notch at the end of the rifle, plus the primitive scope on top, Chief knew with his speed and reflexes he could easily out-perform most sharpshooters or conventional snipers. He looked down the tube sight, adjusting the focus with a small knob on the right side. It could easily look out to over 500 meters, an excellent design overall for such equipment.

He looked up. "Bayonet?" Cortana nodded, handing him one; it fit snuggle to the end of the barrel, with a good half-meter blade on it. Chief nodded, then slung the rifle over his shoulder. "Very good, Spartan. Thank you." He looked at Alak'hzar. "We're going into the sewers under the city to fight evil. Would you like to join us?"

Alak'hzar nodded so hard he almost yanked his neck. "Yes indeed, sir. I'd be honored."

To the cheering of the citizenry of Lut Gholein, the Spartan, Chief, and Alak'hzar descended down the trapdoor into the darkness.

Chapter Eight, Part Three

Chief went down first, the dank stairs slippery and rather disgusting. He swept the area with his rifle, then waved a hand, and the Spartan and Alak'hzar came down, the Assassin looking nervous. Cortana in the suit moved forward, and Chief turned to Alak'hzar. "How many combat missions have you been on?"

"Um, five, including this one."

"Right. Do you have any long-range weapons?"

"Throwing stars, as do you with your equipment. I also have two retractable spears, for surprise movements."

"Give me one please." Alak'hzar didn't hesitate, handing him the tubular device, showing him the metal notch one needed to press. Chief pressed it, and a two-foot metal lance punched out with impressive force for mere springs. Chief nodded, then slowly pushed the lance in again. "Very good. You tackle the light ones, if we have any, and I'll cover you with this," and he patted the rifle.

"Sure. That rifle…it looks much more different than the rifle you used last time. Is it more powerful?"

"Much, also more durable, easier to load, and this bayonet give it impressive melee skills as well, if one is trained to use it. With the scope, which allows you to see much farther than normal, one can successfully hit single targets as far away as half a mile."

"Very impressive."

"Shhh!" The two kept silent as Cortana, far ahead down the passage, motioned quickly for them to shore up the rear. They did so, continuing into the darkness. Cortana spoke to them quietly. "There are three levels to the sewers according to the city plans, so as to flush out waste more efficiently. We have to clear out all three levels to secure the area for Cortana's plans."

"Which are?" Alak'hzar said ignorantly.

"She has plans for designing a much more effective and hazardous sewer system, as well as an advanced plumbing system, which can be hooked up to the buildings above in the right spots."

"You'll have to tell me about it later, my friends. Looks like we have company." Alak'hzar pointed down a side passage. In the gloom stood three skeletons, somehow standing despite the lack of intact joints, probably bound by the dark magic in this place.

Cortana in the suit smiled. "Chief, do the honors?" she whispered.

"With pleasure." With three rounds, and a soft series of sounds, the skeletons exploded, their bones shattering and flying apart. Chief looked in surprise at Cortana in the suit, who shrugged. "Silencer, sorry."

"Tell me about it later." Chief shrugged, and moved forward. Silence is always a good thing.

They rounded the corner and came face to face with over sixteen skeletons, both archers and ones with swords and axes. Chief shouted. "Alak, take the melee ones out! I got the archers!" Cortana charged forward, her wings flicking out and slicing their bones into little segments where they touched. Chief fired a series of shots, downing four archers, then ducked as arrows hissed over his head. Alak was moving incredibly swiftly, using his claws to slice their tendons off, cutting limbs and such off, or sometimes chopping entire skulls off with swift sideways movements.

Chief's observations were interrupted by a shadow over him, and he ducked as an axe hit the stones where his head had been seconds before. He extended his claws and blocked the creature's limb, and kicked the creature in the groin, shattering its hips and roughly ripping the beast in half.

More were behind it, and Chief dropped his rifle carefully and leapt. His bare right fist shattered the first one's rotten skull, plates and before it had fallen to the floor Chief had taken out two more. The entire corridor was filled with them, it seemed, and Chief readies his claws and charged. Time slowed down and he dodged arrows by the handful, twirling and pirouetting, slicing the undead into more manageable size. Alak'hzar soon joined him, and Chief pulled out his Hayabusa blade with a swift flick, dooming the rest of them to an average life expectancy of a few seconds.

They moved forward. As Chief had expected, once they begun combat they would attract the attention of the rest of the forces in the local area, and sound bounced off of the stone down here very effectively. He had five clips in the beginning with a total of 100 rounds, but was down to one clip and 20 rounds when they finally reached the staircase to the next entrance, so he shouldered the rifle and switched to his "less powerful" but no less effective rounds.

As they slaughtered roughly dozens of demonic or undead denizens, Chief found the time to ask Cortana, "So, Spartan, do you have any clue why there are so many—" hackslashhack "—damned monsters here?"

"Well, I can only hypothesize that the evil started here because the Dark Wanderer, and the longer he stayed the more dead arose," she hacked several undead to pieces with her wings, then her flaming sword flared out and skewered a mutated cat-man on it, melting its organs and popping its eyeballs, reducing it to a skeleton in seconds. "The more problems we have," she finished. "Let's go."

They descended to the second level. Alak'hzar seemed calmer, as if facing the ones above he felt readier in spirit. They continued, and swiftly ran into a problem. "Archers!" The Spartan shouted, pinned by enemy fire.

"I got it," Cortana said, throwing a primed grenade. A massive explosion roared outwards, causing part of the decrepit ceiling above them to cave in, crushing the bones of the shattered skeletons. Alak'hzar and Chief shuffled slowly out of the debris, Alak moaning in pain from three cracked ribs. "Sorry," Cortana said, as she rushed forward, reaching slightly outward from the suit's arm, having the glowing film of her hand showing through the palm of the gauntlet. Like that, her energy coursed through Alak'hzar's ribs on contact, knitting and healing his bones, as well as rejuvenating him in general.

Alak stood up, feeling incredibly strong, and hauled Chief the rest of the way out of the rubble. "My thanks, Spartan," he said, bowing to the suited warrior while he retrieved his weapons.

"Ah, no problem," she said, touching Chief also. Her energy coursed through him, healing the dozens of bruises and such that he had. "Get up," she said. "Looks like a shortcut down." She pointed down, where a large stone had smashed through the floor as well. The three looked through the hole in the floor, and Chief casually threw a grenade from the Spartan's belt down there, blowing up several skeletons and some really large multi-armed skeleton mummies of some sort.

They jumped down, and kept going. They made rapid time, hacking, slashing, and shooting everything down there. Needless to say, the Spartan avoided throwing any more grenades, but their conventional weapons were put to very good use.

At least, the three came to a large chamber, the last which they had not covered. A veritable horde of skeletons poured out of the chamber, and behind, them over two heads taller than the rest and over fifteen tall, was massive mummy, with razor-sharp claws and a jaw full of teeth. The beast rattled and hissed in some hideous permutation of laughter, and it raised its massive clawed hand at them. Then it said, as the warriors fought, "Radament lives." Chief fought, his blade flick-flicking left and right. He dodged dozens, and Cortana in the suit assisted them all with her speed and her bravery. They kept Radament occupied while Chief unslung his rifle and sighted for the kill.

He had precisely twelve rounds left by this point. He started with the creature's knees, blowing htem both out. With a hideous roar, the beast fell, claws flailing and gnashing. The next two blew off its elbows, and the creature was left scrambling for cover, its pitiful unlife leaving it afraid for the first time. The next two were right in the chest, and they tore holes the size of dinner plates through its midsection. Now the creature couldn't scream.

When it lay on the ground, only its withers jaws pitifully clacking in its distress, Chief calmly walked up and fired the rest of his rounds, six in all, into the creature's massive skull. It's animal features exploded, and a brilliant outpouring of light erupted from the creature's frame. Alak'hzar and Cortana stood in awe, while Chief looked around. He saw several weapons in good condition, a halberd, three scimitars, a double-headed axe, and a giant crossbow. While gathering them up, he saw a large ornate scroll, and gathered them up too.

When the three emerged into the light, the citizens of Lut Gholein rejoiced, happy and exultant that Radament the Fallen was dead. Cain saw the scroll, and burst into tears. "This is exactly what we needed."


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

John sat in the tavern by the bar, holding a glass of the familiar red liquid he drank these days. So far nothing much had changed, but then again John hadn't been doing anything different about his life, so maybe any new…abilities, simply hadn't been realized yet for that reason.

He had had time to think on it, certainly, and also to dwell on what he remembered of Dracula. Aside from that one book, he knew virtually nothing about vampires or vampirism, as it had been fantasy, and thus not important to a man who focused purely on the practical. Fantasy had no relevance in the life of the warrior; the Covenant were horror enough, imaginary ones were purely unnecessary.

It was night again, and as always since his transformation he felt more powerful during the night. Vampires, night, it made sense, but it felt to him uncanny; his senses, already sharpened by the program that created him, were even higher. It was like…a local omnipresence, like he knew and perceived everything in the area. He could sense that there were exactly 47 people in the building, though he had never asked anyone. He could smell their piss, their blood, their sweat, and by not even moving from his seat. It scared him, sometimes, and he wondered if it was the harbinger of something worse…or better.

Cortana was out again, leaving him alone. He had spent over four hours working on his notes and various projects, pushing his intellect to the limit. Fara with the assistance of some available townsmen and Griez's men had been digging pits for the cannons. First the wax mould, and then the molten metal itself. The new facility was being placed where a dilapidated old building had been, and tearing it down had been a quick job, recycling some of the wood and burning the rest of it, which had largely been rotten through and through.

And their situation with tin had been solved. While they had extensive copper deposits north of the city, they had virtually no tin to bond it with to make the material bronze, so while Cortana and John had figured out the proper measurements and ratios they had no raw material, until now. It turns out that when they had asked Lord Jerhyn about the issue, he'd told them that Meshif, the boat captain, was loaded down with the stuff. They had received permission and had bought most of it from the boat captain, who while happy to get money and funds seemed at a loss to what to do with it, as he was docked and no trade was forthcoming.

John paused, his drink held to his mouth. He'd had it, his levels of patience faded to nearly nothing. He was tired of not fighting during the night, and with his Assassin armor and his rifle and his sword he'd be fine. He hurriedly got dressed in his gear, then snuck out the window to his room, like Alak'hzar had done. The sentry was half-asleep, and Chief snuck out easily, throwing a rock at the sentry to wake him before fleeing into the darkness.

It was amazing, this new desert world. With his senses thrown to the winds he could hear the animals of the wild call out in capture and evasion, in their attempts at life and at pursuing death. The coyotes were plentiful, but were occupied with a large beast they had brought down in the north. There were vultures circling overhead, carrion eaters, waiting for their opportunity. The sensitivity of his senses, all of them, was such almost that John could almost know their every thought, their every twitch of muscle and shot of adrenal gland. The feeling was amazing, and he simply stood there in the darkness, absorbing it all, eyes closed.

When he opened his eyes, it was as if he saw from a million scintillating droplets of dew, like he was the dew, free on wind and storm, a wild creature unfettered by mortal bonds. To and fro he swayed, a night entity, sensing everything and understanding all perceived by his senses.

And out in the desert, a mass of fog rolled in…

Cortana swept high over the plains, her wings a beacon of light and her sword of blue flame in the left hand, her whips of thongs in the other. She had been hunting prey for hours, but since this unusual fog had descended she had been unable to see the creatures of evil in the evil. And, worse, she had heard the most unusual sounds, like short cut-off screams, from the fog, muffled by the water in the air.

She saw the fog slowly retreating finally, and she swept lower to the ground. Ever since she had been taught the ways of the Archangels, she had loved the feeling of flight, and loved existing in general. The feeling of freedom was immense, and easily a seductive one. Cortana shook her head of the feeling and looked thoroughly, seeing the fog retreat, and…bodies, bodies everywhere. She landed, and saw the carnage of whatever had occurred in the fog. Demons and mutated creatures of all different types, all twisted in horrific agonizing postures, screams on their twisted faces. She looked closer, and saw that they had all been drained of blood, hideously pale from the lack of whatever fluids kept them going.

Cortana swept up into the sky, her sword and flail gone, her mind in turmoil. She had a bad feeling about this.

Chief awoke, and opened his eyes, feeling solid and concrete, more in tune with the world than he ever had before. Strange…everything was upside-down, the brown soil of the desert up, and blue underneath? What was going on?

At last, he noticed his hands. They were gripping rock, with an intensity he did not know he could accomplish. And that was when the two parts of his mind made the same observation, and reacted in two different ways. The rational side of his mind saw he was hanging upside down, as if it was perfectly natural. And the unconscious part made the same observation. The logical part made its decision to be calm and to take notice. And the unconscious part made its decision, to faint, which he did.

A white wolf, in the early hours of the morning, snuck into the city from the rocky walls surrounding it, leaping uncannily high into a small window, scrabbling for a grip of some sort and pulling itself through in a manner impossible for a normal dog. It whimpered, curled up on a newly-made bed, and fell asleep.

When the Chief's door to his room was smashed open hours later by a panicking Cortana and a squad of Griez's newly-equipped mercenaries, John was inside in full armor with his gear on him puking his guts out, with some of the most vile secretions known to man, and a few more besides, on the floor before him.

Hours later, John awoke. His mouth was stinging, and he gulped, tasting the horrid flavor of vile things that had until recently been in his mouth. His tongue rolled around his mouth trying to find fluid, and he noted, again, the razor-sharpness of his fangs. He tried to open his eyes, but couldn't; it felt like the water in his body had been sucked out, and he lay there helpless.

Eventually he managed to make a sound, and he felt somebody prop his head up, pouring fluid…water…down his throat. Well, that was a start; his parched throat gulped eagerly for anything like wet. The water was taken from his lips, and his body convulsed briefly, then a pitcher of red blood was brought to his lips, one much much tastier than normal. He drank as fast as he could, and when he could drink no longer, feeling full like a swollen leech, he stopped.

In a few minutes he could feel life returning to his limbs, and moisture starting to spread where it should have been all along but wasn't. Finally, he opened his eyes, and could hear the first of a few faint groans. He was surrounded by blurry images, and he slowly blinked, getting moisture on them. Ah, yes, There was Cortana, faithful servant of a higher power, and Cain, eager teacher. Griez, grizzled veteran, fat and greasy, and Drognan, the sorcerer, and…Charsi…his wife he supposed, his beloved in a manner certainly, but why did she look so concerned?

He snapped awake, the night's memories in all aspects pouring through him, and he bucked suddenly, shouting faintly. He could not restrain himself with that roar; it was as if a thousand fears and furies lay behind it, and with the memory came the horror of what he had done.

He was in a sense, relieved when Alak'hzar came in and smashed him in the skull as hard as he could.

John awoke again, this time in darkness. His body felt roughly like normal except for a light headache, and bruises in odd locations, and his room was empty aside for a sleeping guard, John didn't know who. He moved silently, not waking him, and went to the tavern, finding the nearest barrel of blood and tapping it with a fingernail in the side. He drank over half of it, eventually re-stoppering it; he was full, and would drink again tomorrow.

He then stopped, sitting awkwardly on the floor with the barrel in his lap. He put it aside, and slowly his conscious mind, the one with the thoughts and deliberations, slowly re-emerged. Last night had happened, all right; he had panicked, all right; he had, somehow made it back to his room kilometers away from the city before dawn, all right; and he had suffered the torments of the damned for a few days, it felt like. All right.

Then, his memory clicked. He had always had an eidetic memory, memorizing virtually entire books and texts very quickly, a trait that most Spartans shared, along with very high, near-200 IQs. And he remembered, fuzzily but accurately enough, the gist of a certain lore of night, and what he had been, and what John now was…

He giggled, then snickered, then laughed quietly, rolling on the floor, tears rolling down his face. If he was right…

He snuck back to his room, still not waking the guard. He crawled up the narrow and small window, feeling his muscles ripple with power. He then held his breath, closed his eyes, and moved…down the wall, instead of up.

And damn it all if it didn't work. His body bursting with energy from the blood he had just drank, he slowly climbed down the wall, gripping tiles and protrusions as if by instinct. He had only a short way, only about ten feet down, but when he reached the tiled ground of the city pavement he was exhausted.

A startled Cortana found John asleep outside Atma's locked door, snoring lightly, fully clothed. The guard, in his room, was still fully asleep too.


End file.
